


Untamed Love

by mmmh_hot_sauce



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: 90s, California, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Car Sex, Character Death, Cocaine, Drug Use, Drugs, Explicit Language, F/F, Gangsters, Guns, Hipsters, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Love, Lust, Murder, Oral Sex, Pimp, Police, Public Sex, Racist Language, Rating: M, Rating: NC17, Romance, Sex, Sex in a Car, Shooting Guns, Slurs, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, mob boss, vulgarity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmh_hot_sauce/pseuds/mmmh_hot_sauce
Summary: Willow, a penniless hipster, meets a mysterious woman while out on the town. Quickly falling in love, she makes it her mission to dispose of her new lovers past. All feedback is welcome! PG13-NC17
Relationships: Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story contains elements that are extremely violent/crude and may be offensive to some. If you are offended by vulgar language or do not prefer racial slurs, this story is most likely not for you

CHAPTER 1

"You're joking with me, right?" said a young hipster, as she flirted profusely in the hopes of picking up up the older women named Candice sitting at the bar next to her.

"I ain't joking," the women confirmed as she took a sip of her cocktail.

"In Jailhouse Rock he's everything rockabilly's about. I mean he is Rockabilly, baby! Mean, surly, nasty, and rude… he's got it all. In that movie he couldn't give a fuck about anything except rockin' and rollin'. Livin' life fast, dyin' young, and leaving behind a good-looking corpse, ya know." She paused for a second from her rant to take a sip of her own drink, a whiskey sour. Twisting her head back to look at the dancer who had just ended her shift. "I love that scene where after he's made it big he's throwing a big ass cocktail party, and all these big shots are there, and he's singing, 'Baby… Baby You're So Square... Baby, I Don't Care.'"

"Yeah that was a good scene," Candice admitted with a light faux smile. She took another sip of her drink and continued to listen to the younger women's rant.

"Now, they got him dressed like a fucking jock. He's wearing these stupid-lookin' sailor pants, this … this horrible checkered stripped sweater. Elvis ain't no sweater boy!" She said in outrage, slamming her drink down on the bar table. "To top it off, I even think they got him wearin' penny loafers … And despite all that shit, and all them goddamn fucking highbrows at the party, with that big ass house, and those ridiculous clothes, Elvis … he's still a rude-lookin' motherfucker." She raised her glass as a salute to the King, spilling half of the beverage on her hand and table before downing the liquor in a single long gulp.

"Amen sister," Candice said, feeling oddly charmed by the young women sitting on the stool besides her. "Do you mind?" she asked as she pulled a crumpled package of cigarettes out of her sweater pocket.

Shaking her head no, the Elvis fanatic continued on with her tirade. "I'd watch that hillbilly and I'd want to be him so bad." The girl admitted wholeheartedly. "Elvis looked good. I'm no dick licker, but Elvis was one good lookin' dude. He was fuckin' prettier than most women I've dated… most women. I always said if I ever had to fuck a guy... I mean had too 'cause my life depended on it... I'd fuck Elvis."

"I'd fuck Elvis, too." Candice admitted with a slight chuckle as she took a long drag from her cigarette.

"Really?" The hipster asked, her interest peaked. "You would?"

"Well, when he was alive," the stripper clarified. "I wouldn't fuck him now."

"I don't blame you," said the younger girl with a goofy grin as a soft laughter escaped Candice's lips. "So we'd both fuck Elvis. It's nice to meet other lesbians with common interests, isn't it?"

"You're funny kid," Candice laughed out as she dabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray.

"Well, enough about the King, how 'bout you?" she asked as she rotated the empty whiskey glass between her palms.

"How 'bout me what?" asked Candice with an arched eyebrow.

"How 'bout y-you go to the movies with me tonight?" The younger girl asked, a shy smile crossing her lips and her eyes looking everywhere but straight at Candice.

"What are we gonna see?" Candice asked frankly as she pulled another cigarette out of the carton.

"A George Miller triple feature. "Mad Max", "Mad Max Two: The Road Warrior", and "Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome," the girl added excitedly, obviously also a great fan of Mel Gibson.

"Who' the hell is Mel Givon? Candice asked with a quizzical look on her face.

"Mel Gibson," the girl corrected. " And he is, bar none, the greatest actor to come out of Australia and do a dystopian futuristic movie.

"You wanna take me to some fantasy sci-fi movie?" Candice said in complete shock, not believing that this was what the woman had planned to take her to see.

"Three, kick ass, sci-fi movies." The younger, and slightly more intoxicated women said as she held up three fingers.

Taking another drag from her cigarette, Candice replied, "I don't think so, not my cup of tea." With a laugh she swirled herself off of the red leather bar stool and walked towards the back entrance, waving goodbye to a colleague as she left.

***

The smell of weed weighed heavily in the small apartment and the dense fog wafting trough the back bedroom made it it hard to see. The sounds of city life could be heard flowing in through an open window in the living room. The incessant blaring of car horns, gunshots and noises of random acts of violence outside indicated that the apartment was located in a rundown and neglected part of town. Like the paint peeling off the walls in brittle flakes, the once green carpet now stained black indicated that the inside of the dwelling was in not much better condition than the outside.

On the bed in the back room, where the fog was rolling thick, a huge open suitcase filled with clear plastic bags of white powder sat on the rumpled mattress. Around the suitcase, several shotguns and hand pistols had been carelessly strewn about. The far wall boasted a large flat screen TV with the show "Sanford and Son" playing on mute.

To the left of the bed, by the front of the room, was a rectangular wooden table. Rack Bastien, a wigger drug dealer and his right hand man Forest Gates sat around the small table. Little empty plastic bags, a metal scale, neat lines of cocaine, and open baggies containing weed adorned the tables surface.

"Nigger please," Rack said off offhandedly to Forest. "Get outta my face with that bullshit."

"Naw man, he don't be doin' that shit" said Forest, pointing to the thin faced African American sitting across the table from them.

"That's bullshit." Rack said, his gangster accent showing through. "You're a fucking liar."

Just as the words left Rack's mouth, Nickolas Watson, a rather large, stout and mean looking black man entered the bedroom. As he walked towards the bed he held up two greasy brown paper bags in his hands, both full of hamburgers and french fries to assuage the hunger of the four men.

"Hell no man, that's some serious shit," the thin African American replied to Rack's earlier statement.

"Nigger, you lie like a big dog," Rack said, staring the man straight in the eyes.

"What the fuck are you all talkin' about?" Nickolas asked the men as he plopped his large frame down on the couch besides the thin black man.

"Cameron here say he don't be eatin' the pussy," Rack said with a snort, disbelief written all over his face.

"Shit, any nigger say he don't eat pussy is lying his fuckin' ass off," huffed out Nickolas as he took a giant bite out of his cheese burger.

"I heard that." laughed Rack.

"Hold on a sec, big Nick. You sayin' you eat pussy?" Cameron asked, turning his attention from the wannabe black man Rack, to the hefty man sitting to his left.

"Nigger, I eat everything." Nickolas admitted with a shit eating grin before taking an enormous bite out of his hamburger. "I eat pussy. I eat the butt. I eat every motherfuckin' thing in sit." With that said he took another rather large bite from his burger.

"Preach on, big N." Forest said from beside Rack, raising his fist into the air.

"Look here. If I ever did eat some pussy," Cameron started before pausing to grab himself some fries. After stuffing a handful of the oily potato strips into his mouth, he resumed with his train of thought "I would never eat any pussy…but, if I did eat some pussy, I sure as hell wouldn't tell no goddamn body. I'd be ashamed as a motherfucker."

"So you're telling me you won't eat pussy? Shit!" Big Nick exclaimed, throwing a crumpled up hamburger wrapper at Cameron's head. "Nigger, you smoke enough shrooms, your dumb ass'll do a lot ah crazy ass things. Motherfucker, you be so high you'd be up there sucking a niggers' dicks."

"Heard that," Rack said with a snarl as he bumped fists with Nicholas.

"Yeah, yeah, that's right. Laugh it up. It's so funny, oh it's so funny," Cameron said angrily as he took a hit of a joint that had been resting on the table. "There used to be a time when sisters didn't know shit about gettin' their pussy licked," He replaced the roach back onto the table before turning his attention back to the two drug dealers. "Then the sixties came and they started fuckin' around with white boys. And white boys are freaks for that shit."

"Because it's good!" Rack proclaimed with a sneer, dragging the word 'good' out longer then necessary.

"Then, after a while sisters start getting use to gettin' their little pussy eaten, licked, and play'd with. And it's all because of you white boys," he said, pointing directly at Rack's smirking face "had to make pigs out of yourselves, you fucked it up for every nigger in the world everywhere."

"Rack," Nickolas stepped in, cutting off the smaller man's rant. "On behalf of me and all the brothers who aren't here, I'd like to express our gratitude." At that, Rack, Forest, and Big Nick busted out in laughter causing Cameron's face to scrunch up in irritation.

"Go on ya pussy eaters... Laugh," Cameron grouched out as he picked up his half smoked blunt. Pointing the joint at Nickolas, "You look like you be eatin' pussy. You all got pussy eatin' faces. Now if a nigger wants to get his dick sucked, he's got to do a bunch of weird, fucked up shit."

"So you admit it, you do eat pussy!" Laughed out Forest as he reached over the small table, yanking the bud out of Cameron's hand.

"Hell no. Na, na!" Cameron protested, waving his hands in front of his face.

"You don't like it, but you eat that shit," remarked Nickolas with a chuckle. Looking at Rack and Forest, with a shake of his head, "he eats it."

"Damn skippy," Rack said as he puckered out his lips. "He like it, too."

"Me thinketh he doth protest too much," Big Nick said in a mock English accent as he stuck out his chest.

"Well fuck you guys then!" Cameron half yelled as he sat further back in his seat. "You guys are all fucked up!"

"Why you trippin' homeboy? We jus' fuckin' with ya. But I wanna ask you a question." Rack said, his face becoming serious. The sneer that was adorning his face moments before no longer there. "You with some fine bitch, I mean a full figure, a perfect ten, brick shit house bitch … I got it. You're with Lisa Bonet. You're with Lisa Bonet and you say "Bitch, suck my dick!"," Rack quipped, standing up from his seat with a flash. "And then Lisa Bonet says, "First things first, nigger, I ain't suckin' shit till you bring your ass over here and lick my bush!" Now, what do you say?"

"I tell Lisa Bonet, "Suck my dick or I'll beat your ass!" Cameron shot back with a proud smile. He was a real man, after all.

"Nigger, get real," remarked Big Nick with a wave of his hand. "You so much as lay one finger on Lisa Bonet, she'll have you ass in Wayne County so fast your head'll spin. "Who you kiddin', back off, you ain't beatin' shit. Now what would you do," Rack asked again, not satisfied with Cameron's answer.

"I'd say fuck it!" Cameron said, slamming his hand down onto the table.

Disgusted with the young man's answer, Rack, Forest, and Nick removed themselves from the table and walk away, leaving Cameron sitting all alone with a confused look on his face. "Ain't no man have to eat pussy!" Cameron yelled at their backs.

"Take that weak shit somewhere else," Big Nick said, not even looking at him, his full attention now turned to the big screen TV playing reruns of Sanford and Son.

Marching back and forth across the room in sheer aggravation, Rack asked furiously, "You tryin' to tell me you'd tell Lisa Bonet to fuck it?"

"If it came down to who eats who, damn straight white boy," Cameron said as he looked into Rack's scarred up face.

"With that terrible mug of yours if Lisa Bonet told you to eat her pussy, shave her ass, suck her toes, and chow down on her shit, nigger, you'd aim to please." Rack spat out, his agitation showing through.

"I'm hip," Big Nick chirped in, not taking his eyes off of the TV.

"In fact, I'm gonna show you what I mean with a little demonstration," Rack said with a smile, as he shook his hands to limber up. "Big N, toss me that shotgun."  
Without turning away from Sanford and Son, Nickolas picked up the shotgun laying next to him and tosses it to Rack.

"All right, check this out," Rack said to Cameron as he ran his right hand gently up and down the barrel of the shotgun, caressing the smooth metal. "Now, pretend this is the lovely Lisa Bonet. And … you're you." Then, in a blink of an eye, he aimed the barrel of the shotgun at Cameron's chest. Squeezing the trigger once, he watched as the bullet blew a hole the size of a dinner plate into the arrogant man's torso.

Jumping off of the bed, Big Nick spun towards Rack but he was shocked to see Forest's gun already waiting for him. Fired from across the room, the blast from the silent man's shotgun hit the bigger man in the upper right shoulder, spinning him around like a bottle top. Quickly making his way from Cameron's dead body sprawled out on the couch, Rack approached the newest victim writhing on the floor and fired again.

Once the man's incessant squirming stopped. Rack collected the brown suitcase full of cocaine and headed for the bedroom door, Forest following close behind him. As the two men reached the open door, Rack turned around, surveying the carnage left behind, hocked a lougie and walked out.


	2. Chapter 2

The movie flickered on the extra-large canvas screen, the deliberately dulled colors reminiscent of films of that high action fight scene taking place at the moment during the first viewing of "Mad Max" had Mel Gibson's character, Mad Max Rockatansky, brutally slaying several gang members in revenge for the murder of his wife and infant son.

The young woman sat alone in the third to front row of the theatre, her legs were arranged Indian style on top of the soft red cushion with a jumbo size container of popcorn snug between her folded legs. Her eyes were as big as saucers and a big smile was plastered across her face as she unconsciously nibbled on her overly salted corn.

"Kick him!" She shouted excitedly, bits of popcorn spewing out of her mouth. "Yeah, kick him again!"

As more opponents arrived on screen, attacking the character that Mel Gibson's was playing, the double doors to the theatre swung open wide, causing light to illuminate half of the canvas.

Walking through the double doors with a good supply of snacks, the new arrival took a quick scan of the near empty theater. After deciding where to sit, she made a bee-line for the front few rows which just happened to also be the other woman's area of choice. Deciding to pick the fourth row behind the younger woman, the late comer made her way down the row of seats.

As she neared the sixth chair in, the new arrival slipped on an empty plastic sprite bottle, spilling her popcorn all over the unsuspecting woman engrossed in the movie.

"Oh God," squeaked the girl as she straightened herself out. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Hey, I'm fine. It didn't hurt," responded the other woman as she swept popcorn off her lap.

"I'm sorry. I'm like the clumsiest person in the world sometimes." the newcomer admitted with a tiny smile.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it," the first girl said off handedly as she picked overly buttered popcorn out of her hair. "Accidents do happen."

"What a wonderful philosophy," she replied as she too started to pick the popped kennel out of the girls auburn hair. "Thanks for being such a sweetheart. You could have been a real bitch." Once the popcorn had been removed and the apologies repeated numerous times, the girls sat back in their respected seats to watch the movie, now more than halfway over.

The movie played on for a few more minutes before the girl in the fourth row leaned forward and tapped on the auburn-haired girl's shoulder. "Excuse me. I'd hate to bother you again. But…would you mind filling me in on what I missed?" Before the other women could answer her question, she hopped the seat in front of hers, bringing her remaining snacks with her.

"Not at all," smiled the women, jumping at the opportunity to talk to the stunning womennow sitting beside her. "Okay, this guy here," she pointed to the screen where two men stood fighting. "He's Mad Max."

"The police officer?" The girl asked, confused.

"Uh, yeah. The dude in black," she said with a shake of her head. "He's a rogue cop."

"Oh. Okay"

"Now, at the beginning of the movie, law and order has started to break down and motorcycle gangs are starting to take over and kill people. This guy is a cop, and when his friend was brutally injured he was about to retire … that was until his wife and son were killed by the biker dudes. So what he does is goes and dons his Police leathers and takes a supercharged black Pursuit Special to pursue the gang and he just starts kickin' all kinds of asses!"

"Want some Goobers?" the girl asked as she looked into shining green eyes, handing over the unopened box of candy.

"Na, I'm good," the woman said, herfull attention on the movie. 

"Wait, hold on. I thought Max was the good guy," the confused girl asked as she gulped down a good portion of her extra-large fountain drink.

"Well, he ain't so much a good guy anymore … more like just a bad motherfucker. Mad Max don't take shit from nobody. He kind of fucks dudes up for … oh hold on, a fight scene's comin' up." The two women sat quietly for the remainder of the movies, both of their eyes wide open and glued to the silver screen.

As the theater lights went up, both women started to vigorously applaud the rolling credits. "Wow, what a great movie. Action packed!"

"Does Mad Max kick ass or does Mad Max kick ass?" asked the auburn haired girl as she stood up from her seat.

"He totally kicks ass," confirmed the other girl, also standing up from her seat.

"Well if you thought this was good you should'a been here for the beginning of the movie," she said excitedly as she walked up the theaters carpets stained alleyway. "It was out of control! Fighting here and there. Death, and romance, and awesome bikes, and … it was just awesome."

"Ah too bad I missed it. I would have loved it," the newcomer said excitedly as she chucked her empty soda container into the overfilled garbage can.

"Hey, my name is Willow by the way. What's yours?" asked the redhead, her hair much lighter now then it was before in the dark theater room.

"Tamara Marie Maclay. Pleased to meet ya." The newcomer introduced, her voice hinting at a bit of an accent.

Looking at the blonde quizzically, her perfectly waxed eyebrows quirking in disbelief, Willow asked, "Is that your real name? Really? I mean if you didn't want to tell me you could hav-"

"That's my real name, really." The blonde giggled, her mouth quirking into a sideways grin. "I got proof. See? " Digging into the pocket of her cheetah print jacket she pulled out her driver's license.

"Well, chop my legs off and call me a Phocomelia." Willow said in disbelief as she scanned her eyes over the stat issued I.D., her left hand running through her flowing red locks. "That's a pretty original moniker there, Tamara. Sounds kinda like Norma Jean Mortenson… but, you know, before she changed it." She finished shyly, her cheeks turning red from blushing.

"Oh, please, call me Tara." The blonde requested with another smile as she took back her license.

"Sure thing … Tara," Willow said smitten. "So, uhmm, where's your car? I'll walk you to it."

"I took a cab." Tara replied, biting delicately on her bottom lip as she twisted the tip of her left shoe into the cement sidewalk.

"You took a cab to see three George Miller movies?" Willow asked surprised, not sure whether she should be enthralled by the beautiful women standing before her or bewildered by her motives.

"Sure." The blonde said with a light shrug. "Why not?"

"Nothing, it's really nothing." Willow said with a shake of her head, a slight smile gracing her delicate lips as her blush grew darker. "It's just … you're a girl after my own heart is all."

"Hey, what time is it?" Tara asked, changing the subject to save the other girl from further embarrassment.

"Hmm, 'bout twelve."

"I suppose you gotta get up early, huh? Tara inquired, her nose scrunching up as she asked the question.

"No. Not particularly." Willow replied absentmindedly, the conversation passing between the two easily as if they were longtime friends. "How come?" She asked after a moment's pause.

"Well, it's just when I see a really good movie I really like to go out to a diner and get some pie, and talk about it." She said with a sweet smile, her eyes staring intently into Willow's. "It's sort of a tradition I have. Do you like to eat pie after you've seen a good movie?"

"I love to get pie after a movie." Willow replied back with a smirk.

"Would you like to get some pie with me?" Tara asked innocently, taking a step closer to the redhead.

"I'd love some of your pie." Her eyes widened at her slip up. Stammering to correct herself she started over but only furthered to brighten her blush and strengthen Tara's laugh. "I mean eat your pie. I mean … pie sounds great!"


	3. Chapter 3

"This is the greatest Denny's in town," Willow proclaimed as she held the restaurant door open for the blonde. "They have amazing omelets and the waitresses are surprisingly friendly considering they're serving food to mostly drunks at two in the morning."

Nodding to a waitress who was leaning up against the counter with a pot of coffee in her left hand, Willow ushered the blonde over to a booth in the far back corner. "That's Phyllis. Lady has three kids, usually works double shifts and always has a smile on her face."

"Do you come here often?" Tara asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked back over at the thirty something year old women, taking in her feminine features.

"Only when I can't sleep. Which is quite often." Willow clarified. Noticing the women's frown, "she's just a friend."

"Oh, yeah" Tara said unenthusiastically, tearing her eyes away from the smiling waitress to the redhead. "It's great to have friends."

"It is," Willow replied, snaking her right hand across the table to cup the blondes that were nervously tearing at the paper place mat. After a moments silence, Willow decided it was time to change the subject. "So, what type of pie where you thinking of getting?"

Smiling shyly, Tara silently thanked the redhead sitting across from her for switching subjects. "I was thinking about getting some apple pie if they had any. I haven't had any since I've moved out here from Nebraska. What about you?"

"Me? I've never lived in Nebraska," Willow said with a straight face before breaking out in a smile. "Oh you mean pie! Uh, probably the chocolate cream pie. It's delicious here."

Just as the words left her mouth Phyllis the waitress arrived at their table with a pad and pen in hand. "Hey Willow, didn't expect to be seeing you in here so soon." She said with a sweet smile. "So, the usual?"

"Yup," Willow said with a bashful smile as she removed her hand from atop Tara's, her top teeth nervously nibbling on her bottom lip. "Chocolate cream pie and a Coke."

"What about you sweetheart?" Phyllis asked, casting an award winning smile towards the blonde.

"Do you have Apple pie?"

"We sure do cutie," the waitress responded. "Do you want it heated?"

"Yes please," Tara replied back with a grin. "Oh, and a Yuengling please. Thanks."

"Alrightie. I'll be right back with your orders." With that said she walked away from their table leaving the two new acquaintances to get to know each other better.

"So Nebraska, huh?" Willow started as she leaned back into her booth. "Tell me about yourself."

"There's nothing really to tell." Tara said modestly, her head turning to gaze out the window at the lightening sky.

"C'mon. What're ya tryin' to be?" Willow asked jokingly, leaning forward so that her elbows rested on the table. "The phantom lady?"

"Maybe," She said quietly. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, for starters," She paused what she was going to say to lean back so Phyllis could place their orders on the table without overhearing her questions. "What do you do for a living? Where exactly in Nebraska are ya from? What's your favorite color? Who's your favorite movie star? What kinda music do you like? What are your turn-ons and turn-offs? Do you have a fella? What's the story behind you takin' a cab to the most dangerous part of town alone? And, in a theater that was ninety-nine point eight percent empty, why did you sit by me?

Taking a leisurely bite out of her pie, she pulls the fork slowly out of her mouth before looking at the redhead again before answering. "Ask me them again. But, one by one."

Thinking for a second, "What do you do for a living?" She said slowly.

"I don't remember." Tara said with a cryptic smile as she scooped a warm apple out of the center of the pit. "Wanna bite?"

"No," She said with a shake of her head. "Where are you from?"

"I told you, Nebraska."

"But where in Nebraska. That state is huge!"

"It's not important." She said disdainfully.

"Okay," Willow said with a furrow of her brow, filling that question away for a later date. "What's your favorite color?"

"As of right now, I'd have to say green."

Willow let out a slight huff of a laugh before carrying on with her questions. "Who's your favorite movie star?"

"Burt Reynolds." She answered in all honesty.

"Because of his mustache?" Willow asked with a grin, her head tilted to the right. "Would you like a bite of my pie?"

"Yes, I would." Tara responded, leaning over the table to accept the offer. "Mmmh," she moaned as she slowly slid her mouth off of the fork, her tongue sliding out to run along her lips in the chance that some chocolate got on them.

"Like it?" Willow asked with a gulp, her eyes firmly fixated on the blondes plump lips.

"Very much." Tara said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Now, where were we?"

"What kinda music do you like?

"Salt-N-Pepa, TLC. Uh, girl group stuff. You know, like I Don't Want No Scrub.' It's very teenagerish, but it's me," she said with a shrug.

"What are your turn-ons?" Willow asked, already fully fascinated.

"Christina Applegate. Leather pants and Harley Davison's. Somebody who can appreciate the finer things in life, like Johnny Cash or Elvis' voice. Kick ass movies, and a tasty piece of pie." She finished with a seductive smile.

"Turn-offs?" Willow huffed out, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Shrimp." She said simply.

"Shrimp? That's it?" Willow asked disbelievingly. "Seriously?"

"Well I'm allergic to it. Don't really wanna be kissing someone that just downed a plate of small ocean crustaceans."

"Ah. Good point." Willow said with a curt nod. "Anything else?"

"I'm not really sure." She said, pausing to think it over. "There must be something. All that really comes to mind besides shrimp is overly religious people who think their religion or even themselves are superior to others."

" Yeah, I get that. … So, are you seeing anyone?" Willow asked straightforwardly, not trying to conceal her emotions.

Looking at Willow with a sly smile. "I'm not sure yet. Ask me again later."

"So, what's the story behind you takin' a cab to one of the more dangerous part of town alone?" Willow inquired, once again leaning back into the booth, her left arm stretched out over the top of the plush seat.

"It's not that dangerous. I've been in scarier places," Tara admitted honestly. "Plus, I really wanted to see a movie tonight and the Triple Feature Theatre seemed like the best place to go so I hopped in a cab and told the driver to step on it."

"And in a theater full of empty seats, why did you sit by me?" Willow asked intently, her eyes searching Tara's for her answer before it could be spoken.

"Because you looked like a nice enough person who wanted popcorn dumped all over them." She replied with a wicked smile, before admitting, "Actually, you're right, it was a dangerous place to be walking around at night and I was a little scared. And I sure could'a used a friendly face about that time, so I spilled my popcorn on you."

Willow looked at the other girl closely. Her eyes unblinking as she picked up her glass of soda and sucked steadily on the straw until it started making slurping noises. Replacing the now empty glass back on the table, she blinked her eyelids closed in rapid succession three times before staring back into the blonde's magnificent blues.

Slowly, a smile started to make its way across Tara's face and blossomed into a big wide grin. "Aren't you just dazzled by my imagination?" She asked with a wink as she placed the last piece of pie delicately in her open mouth. "So, where to next?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"So uh … this is where I work," Willow said with a sheepish smile, both her hands buried deep into the worn out pockets of her jeans.

Tara looked up into the bright neon light flashing the name 'Hero Hangout" with a superhero posing underneath, a bemused smirk lingering on her face. "Wow." She proclaimed, letting out a low whistle of appraisal. "Whatta swell place to work."

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." Willow agreed as she removed her right hand from its resting place inside her pants pocket, a pair of keys wrung around her fingers. "I've got a spare set of keys, so I come here at night sometimes. Usually just hang out, read the new comic books in stock, play some music, and of course snoop on my boss's computer for his porn"

Laughing lightly at the redhead's easy going nature and off handed joke, "So, how long have you worked here?"

"Geez, I believe almost four years now." Willow said, rolling her eyes up and to the right to think about her answer.

"That's a long time." Tara said her face pensive .

"Yea, I guess so," Willow said nervously, her teeth once again chewing on her bottom lip as she contemplated whether or not this was a turn off for the blonde. "But you know, I'm  
comfortable here." She walked towards the door and inserted the correct key. "It's easy work. I know what I'm doing." Pushing the door open, she stepped aside so the blonde could walk in first and get out of the cold. "Everybody who works here is my buddy, also, I'm friendly with most of the customers." Following Tara inside, she turned around and relocked the door to ward off any unwanted customers. Searching the darkened walls blindly with both hands, she fumbled for the light switches to illuminate the small dwelling. "Plus, I just hang around and talk about comic books all day. What's not to like about that?"

"Do you get paid a lot?" Tara asked, as she spun around to be face to face with the redhead, both their eyes blinking owlish as they adjusted to the harsh contrast in light. "Sorry, that was rude. You don't have to answer that."

"It's okay. But, uh, no. See that's where the trouble comes into my little patch of paradise." Willow said humbly, as she waved off the blonde's last statement. "The pay kinda sucks but the boss lets me borrow money if I need it. He's real nice like that."

"That's really nice of him."

"Sure is," Willow replied as she sauntered past the other woman towards the checkout counter. "Hey! Wanna see what Spiderman number one looks like?"

"You bet." Tara said with a goofy grin, walking towards the redhead. "How much is that thing worth?"

Removing a locked box from off of the shelf, "More than I have." She replied with a chuckle. "This pretty baby is four hundred bucks."

"Wow, seriously! Hey, Spiderman looks different." Tara said, taking a few steps closer to the mint condition comic book. Taking a half step back, she lifted her head to look at   
Willow. "You know, I never even knew they had stores that just sold comic books."

"Well, we sell other things too." Willow said quickly as she replaced the box containing the comic back onto the shelf. "We have some cool stuff like the Green Hornet board games. Shit like that. But comic books are our main revenue of business. There are a surprising number of collectors around here. Keeps the store going."

"That's good to hear." Holding up a little G.I. Joe-size action figure of an African American police officer for the redhead to see. "What's this?"

"That, my dear, is a Rookies doll." Willow said pointing at the used toy. "George Stanford Brown to be exact. We've got a lot of dolls in here also. Most come in as trades or people pawning them off. They're pretty cool."

"Yea, they are," Tara said as she replaced the doll she was currently holding to pick up another one. "So, out of this whole store, what is your favorite comic book?"

"Oh, that's easy," Willow practically shouted, her white tooth grin spreading wide. Hoping over the counter she ran to the second bookshelf containing comic books. She scanned the shelf for half a second, her finger tips gliding lightly over the shiny covers before removing the comic she was looking for. "Sgt. Fury and his Howling Commandos. One of the coolest series known to man." she said to the blonde, holding the comic up in the air. "Yeah, they're completely worthless and you can get number one for about … four bucks. But   
that's one of the cool things about them, they're so cheap! And just look at this artwork, will ya." she flipped the comic open so the blonde could view some of the pages.

"Wow," Tara said, impressed with the artistic skills. "So what's this one about? I've never heard of it before."

"Okay, uh, you'd probably want the brief rundown." Willow started as she flipped the book to its first page. "This dude, his name is Nick. So, he's been given a ring from his sweetheart and he wears it around his neck on this silver chain. But, later in the story he gets into a fight with this Nazi bastard on a ship. Nick knocks the dude overboard, but the kraut grabs a hold of his chain and the ring goes flying overboard too! So, Nick then dives into the ocean to get it back." Willow finished her recap with a proud smile. "Isn't that cool?"

"Yea," Tara said dotingly, gazing wide-eyed upon the redhead with pure affection. Her eyes roamed over the other girls animated features, taking in her unmodified beauty.  
The young comic book clerk felt eyes bearing into the side of her face, so she slowly closed the magazine, turning her head to face that of the blondes. A small smile crept across her face as her emerald green eyes connected with the longing look emanating from the blue ones of the girl to her right. "Tara, I'd like you to have this." She handed over the 'Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos' comic book, the one that she loved so much to the blonde.

"Willow, I can't take this," Tara protested, her eye contact with the redhead not wavering.

"I want you to." Willow insisted, urging the blonde to take the comic. "Please."

At the cute little pout the redhead presented with her 'please' Tara relented. "Okay," she said softly, as she gently clutched the brightly colored magazine that the redhead was still holding. Ever so slowly she slid her hand down the cover, her soft fingertips brushing lightly against Willow's.

"Good, cause I would have kept this up for a very long time." She said with a genuine smile. "I probably should lock up, you all set?"

She didn't verbally answer, just clutched her new favorite possession to her chest and gave the comic book store employee a sturdy head shake. "Need any help?"

"Nope, I'm good." Willow said as she slid back over the counter, making sure everything was in place. Rounding the counter, she walked over to the door where Tara was standing, and flipped the light off. "Alright, all set."

The two exited the dwelling, Willow turning around to set the deadbolt back into place, before falling into step with the blonde. "Wow, look at that moon!" Tara said excitedly, pointing at the full moon in front of them. "Is it always that big? And so close?"

"Not always," Willow admitted as she looked up at the moon. Turning her attention back to the blonde, she ran her eyes appreciatively along Tara's exposed neck and face. "It sure is pretty tonight."

Tara slowly tore her gaze away from the luminous moon, a pearly white, toothy grin spreading across her face as she regarded the redhead. "It sure is."

"H-hey Tara?" Willow asked meekly, wringing her hands together as the two resumed walking. "I know it's late, but I was wondering if you would like to get some coffee… or something? M-my apartments only a few blocks away."

"I'd love some coffee," Tara said coyly, cocking her head to the side to view the redhead, her toothy grin replaced with a lopsided smirk. "Or something."

"Good … good." Willow said anxiously, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Cause I just got this new coffee but I haven't tried it yet. I've been told it's good so hopefully you like it. But if you don't, that's okay, there's a 24 hour Dunkins about a five minute walk from my apartment. By the way… my apartment, well, it's not so much an apartment as a really crappy, rundown loft. But it's…"

"Willow." Tara said tenderly, running a soothing hand lovingly up and down the redheads arm, cutting off the nervous babble. "I'm sure your coffee and your apartment are fine."

Willow gave a sheepish smile and a half-assed shrug, silently apologizing to her new friend for her annoying babble fest. She looked down at the hand still attached to her arm before back at the blonde. "You know when you sat behind me?" Willow said suddenly, changing the flow of conversation.

"At the movies?" Tara questioned, already missing the small blush that had suffused the redheads porcelain skin and the feel of warmth radiating through her thin sweater as she retracted her hand.

"Uh-huh. I was tryin' so hard to rack my brain for something to say to you," Willow admitted, shrugging her shoulders upwards as she lolled her head to the right, taking in the blonde's complexion in the soft glow of the moonlight. "Then I thought, 'Will, just leave her alone. She doesn't want me bothering her.'"

"What would make you think that?" Tara asked sincerely, turning her head to make eye contact once more.

"I dunno." Willow said after a moment, coming to a stop outside a multi complex building. "I guess I'm just stupid." She said with all sincerity, turning her head back around to face the door that would lead them to her humble abode.

"You're not stupid." Tara admonished as she took a step closer to the unsuspecting redhead. Slowly raising her right hand, she cupped the comic book fanatic's chin, turning her head so they were practically breathing in the same breath. "Just very, very wrong." With that said, her lips slowly enveloped Willow's, the smaller girl standing stock still from shock before snapping to attention.


	5. Chapter 5

The two fumbled through the small doorway, their lips madly clashing together in a feverous kiss that didn't seem to be ending anytime soon as their hands roamed freely over each other's body. Pushing the blonde further into the apartment, Willow kicked out behind her with her left foot, frantically searching for the door. Once it was securely closed behind them, Willow steered them both into the open living room, only breaking away from the kiss when she accidentally bumped Tara into the corner of the couch.

"Sorry," she whispered huskily before taking a few more quick kisses from Tara's succulent lips, her hands squeezing absentmindedly on the blondes well rounded hips. Pulling back completely from the other woman's heaving chest, panting mouth, and warm embrace, she looked into the crystal clear blue eyes that had dilated immensely since their first kiss only a few minutes ago. "Sorry, I'm being rude." Willow panted out, her breathing ragged and hitching in her throat every once and a while.

"I should … I should give you the tour. Or at least get you some coffee. I mean, you did want coffee after all," she said as she looked around her unkempt apartment, laughing lightly. "Well, right here is the living slash eating area. Back there's my bedroom," she pointed to the lone door on the right side of the apartment. "And over to our left is the kitchen." She pondered silently for a few moments, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. "Want me to show you the catwalk?" She pointed to a finger printed smudged, window at the far end of the room. "That window leads right to it."

"I'd rather you showed me your bed," Tara said honestly as she dropped the long forgotten comic book to the floor, her eyes tracking unabashedly up and down the green eyed beauty's slender frame.

"Uh-yuh, yeah," Willow said with a gulp. Gripping one of the blonde's hands, she led her forcibly to the open bedroom door. "I can do that."

The two practically sprinted through the open door, not stopping their hasty momentum until they reached the disheveled full size bed. Letting go of Tara's hand, Willow made quick work of removing all the articles of clothing that were lying about the bed, throwing them haphazardly about the room as she tried to straighten out the crumpled bed linens.

"Willow, stop making the bed," Tara ordered as she stepped behind the slender women, her arms coming up to wrap around her petite waist. "It's just going to get ruined again."

Willow audibly gulped, her eyes growing wide as the blondes hot breath tickled her sensitive ear. Shaking her head dumbly, she unclenched the soft cotton fabrics pinched between her fingers and her palm. "Good idea."

"I think I have a few better ones," Tara husked out, her tongue slipping out of her delicate mouth to run lightly across the shell of Willow's ear. Her hands slipped slowly from the center of the redhead's waist to the hem of her low rise jeans. "Some of them even involve fewer clothes."

"Less … less clothing is good," Willow said shakily, the trembling in her body matching the quiver in her voice. Turning around slowly, starting with her head over her right shoulder, Willow stood face to face with the gorgeous blonde. "Less clothing on you would be very good."

"So take them off then," Tara practically moaned, her left hand firmly stroking the taut ass encased in denim fabric. The index finger on her right hand was simultaneously fondling the quarter size, copper button holding the jeans together. "I won't fight ya."

"I know you won't," Willow huffed out, her face inching ever so slowly towards Tara's. Raising her right hand from its stiff position at her side, she slid it slowly up the back of the blonde's furry, cheetah print jacket, stopping her roaming hand when it reached the nape of the other girl's neck. Entangling her fingers into the downy soft hair at the back of her head, she pulled the slightly taller girl foreword, gently meshing their lips together in another passionate kiss.

"You better hurry up and undress me," Tara said sexily as she pulled back slightly, her lips gliding softly across Willow's moistened ones. "You might just lose your chance if you don't … then I'll have to fix this little problem you started myself."

"I ain't gonna lose my chance, no, I don't wanna lose it," she replied, her tone low and thick with wantonness. Pulling the blonde close to her again, she lowered her mouth to the delectable neck only inches away, trailing soft, delicate kisses up the silky smooth skin. "Ain't gonna lose my chance to make you mine, all mine." she said in between kisses, her words labored due to her rushed breathing.

"Oh, reciting Janis to me now?" Tara said with a wholesome chuckle, her head lolling backwards as the redheads tongue did miraculous things to her flesh. "Oh right there!"

"I'd recite anything for you," Willow said honestly as she slid her left hand up the woman's bare thigh until she reached the double stitched hem of her leather skirt. Slowly, after a moment's pause, her hand passed over the curvaceous hips that had caught her attention more than one time that night and worked its way to the bottom of her flowing red, off the shoulder t-shirt.

Shrugging her shoulders and arms backwards, Tara quickly removed the heavy jacket she wore, letting it pool around her ankles. Bringing her hands back to the front of the Elvis fanatics faded jeans, she swiftly slipped the button through the buttonhole, casting a quick smile to the redhead before ripping down the zipper. "Maybe later." she said in an airy whisper. "Like my name. Over and over again."

"Oh, I can definitely recite that," Willow said with a smirk, both her hands now pushing up the red garment over succulent mounds, exposing the milky white flesh underneath. "Shit, I might start now." she said with a groan as she tossed the shirt aside, her eyes soaking in the lacy, red stitched, cheetah bra that matched perfectly with the now forgotten jacket.

"It's a matching set." Tara said seductively, her eyes downcast in the direction of her skirt. "But," she removed the redhead's hands from off of her shoulders, running them slowly over her heaving chest, and replaced them on her hips. "You don't get to see them until I remove something of yours."

In a hurry to have Tara remove an article of her clothing, she took a half step backwards, fumbling around foolishly as she tried to kick off her tarnished Adidas without removing her hands from the blonde's hips. As soon as the sneakers were off of her feet, she motioned to Tara to lower her pants.

Smiling leisurely at the redhead, she seductively lowered the other girl's semi baggy pair of jeans, her eyes never wavering from Willow's as they pooled to the ground around her dingy white socks. "Cute," she purred as her hands slid up the silky smooth thigh, her right thumb stopping to stroke small counter clockwise circles over the crotch of the girls black and orange, Calvin Klein women's briefs.

"That feels … ," Willow stopped suddenly, the muscles in her neck straining as a moan escaped her slightly parted lips. Her head dipped back slightly, her jaw quivering as her teeth clenched together tightly, the blondes thumb below rubbing quicker circles around her sensitive mound.

"How does it feel?" Tara husked out, her hot breath hitting heavy against the quivering woman's exposed neck sending shivers down her spine. "Tell me baby. I'm dying to know."

"How about I show you," Willow said throatily, her eyes dark with lust as she straightened her posture back out. Sliding her hands around the lovely blonde's hips to the delectable curves of where her toned thighs meet her well rounded ass, she gripped tight before hefting up.

With a squeal of delight, Tara wrapped her well-toned legs around the redheads perfectly slimmed body, her three inch red heels linking together at the small of the girls dimpled back. "Mmmh, large with the butch, are we?" she purred as she delicately wrapped her forearms around Willow's fragile neck, leaning in close to place a chase kiss on her moistened lips.

"Always," Willow said through the kiss, twirling them around and taking two quick steps towards the bed. With one arm outstretched and the other still holding tight to her soon to be lover, she dropped them both down onto the half made bed, the blonde's body still wrapped tight around her small frame.

"Is that so?" Tara asked with a raised eyebrow as she sat up slightly, her arms unlinking from around the redhead's neck to slide down her cloth clad arms. Moving her hands inwards, she took hold of the lapels of the black blazer Willow was wearing, pushing the material backwards over the petite shoulders.

Taking the hint, Willow pushed herself up onto her knees, quickly freeing the jacket from her arms before diving back on top of the blonde for a much long overdue kiss. As their lips clashed together in a feverish battle for dominance, Willow's hands snaked their way upwards into the blonde's bouncy, square-layered haircut, gripping two fists full. As she pulled roughly against Tara's multi highlighted hair, the women below her brought her own hands up to fumbled with the small off-white buttons adorning the white button down, long sleeve shirt she still wore, all-the-while keeping up the frenzied motion of their grinding hips.

Growing aggravated from the lack of pure skin on skin contact, Willow released her grip on the blonde's hair before shimmying backwards off of the bed, effectively removing Tara's hands from off of her clothing. Hopping off of the bed, Willow grabbed the collar of her shirt, yanking it forcibly over her head while tugging mercilessly at the remaining material that was rapidly sliding up her back.

Watching the sexy redhead with a smirk, Tara concealed a snort of laughter as the girls head protruded out of the confining material with a pop, her haircuts natural messy side swept bangs fizzling out even more than normal. As soon as Willow discarded the shirt from her wrists, she scooted forwards on the bed, her right hand lifting up to lightly stoke the redheads taut stomach muscles, her eyes drifting higher to take in her cotton clad breasts.

"Sorry it's not all fancy like yours," Willow said sheepishly, her hand coming up to cup Tara's hand that was rubbing her stomach as she looked down at her plain black cotton bra.

Shaking her head to clear all the naughty thoughts that were running through her mind, Tara slowly lifted her gaze from the redheads delectably rounded breasts to her soulful green eyes, giving her an approving smile. "It's lovely." Tara said reassuringly, her hand that the redhead still held slowly trekking upwards until it reached the base of the woman's cotton clad bosom. "Can I take it off?"

Willow squeezed the hand she held apprehensively before giving the blonde the nod to go ahead. Taking a deep intake of breath, she took a step closer to Tara, nestling in between the gorgeous blondes parted legs. Lowering her upper body, she bent forward to give Tara better access to the clasp of her bra all the while placing a light trail of kisses up her neck and along her jaw line.

Letting out a guttural moan of approval, Tara raked her free hand up the length of Willow's back, only stopping her ministrations once the tips of her fingers came in contact with the cotton fabric in order to swiftly unclasp the device that held such glorious treasures. Once it was unclasped she moved back slightly, dislodging the redheads roaming mouth from her quivering skin, as she peeled the straps of the bra slowly down Willow's pale arms. "Gorgeous," she said silently, her eyes slowly appraising the other women's freckled flesh. Her eyes lingered on the tiny pink nipples standing erect from arousal.

Licking her lips self-consciously, she removed the rest of the material from off of Willow's body, letting it fall absently to the floor before leaning in, placing gentle kisses all around the redheads left breast before traveling to the right one. "God, you taste so good," she moaned through a mouthful of flesh, her teeth coming into play, leaving a quickly forming hicky just centimeters from Willow's right nipple.

"Mmmh, you feel good." Willow groaned out, her fingers kneading deeply into the flesh of the blondes back as her eyes rolled inwards from pleasure. Running her nails to the front of the Tara's body, she pushed upwards with her palms, sliding the cheetah print fabric halfway over two well-rounded breasts. "So good," she added as she firmly gripped the alabaster breasts with both hands, giving them each a loving squeeze.

Leaning back slightly, Tara crossed both hands over her chest, grabbed her disheveled bra that was already half off and yanked it over her head in one quick swoop. As her hair floated back into its normal resting place, she carelessly tossed aside her bra before bringing her hands back to the front of Willow's petite body, fondly stroking the girl's warm flesh. Quickly sliding her hands from under the redheads pert breast to her lower back, Tara pulled her in close as she wrapped her arms around the smaller woman. Squeezing their uppers bodies closely together, so practically every inch of exposed flesh was touching, Tara flipped Willow over onto the bed in a move that closely resembled a belly-to-belly suplex.

Letting out a squeal of excitement, Willow giggled as her and the blonde landed on the mattress, both of them bouncing from the impact of their combined weight on the worn out springs. From her position under Tara, she peered up into the woman's sparkling blue eyes through her short shaggy hair that had cascaded across her face. With the blondes firm body keeping her own securely pressed to the bed, she extended her neck up, capturing Tara's awaiting lips.

Snaking her right hand out from between their conjoined upper bodies, Willow stealthy glided it down Tara's side until she reached the underside of the blonde's leather skirt. Pushing the garment up slightly, she started to caress the inside of Tara's milky thigh, a small shiver erupting from the blonde's body at the gentle touch. As her hand snaked further up the taller girl's leg, Tara let out a sensual moan, her hips subconsciously thrusting forward into the redhead's pelvis bone.

Finally running her hand up the perfectly toned backside, Willow massaged the flesh in her grasp before gently trailing her fingers over to the side a few centimeters, running them down the indentation in the blonde's underwear before caressing the underside of her clothed folds with a feather light stroke. Moaning incoherently at the feel of the immense wetness in between the blonde's legs and the unintelligible whimpering coming from the women above her, Willow removed her hand from its hidden den.

"No, no!" Tara panted out, her hips still thrusting forwards, her breasts rubbing together against those of the smaller woman. "Please keep going," she begged as she lowered her head, her mouth latching on to the exposed flesh of the redhead's neck.

With a leisurely grin spreading across her face due to the feeling of her soon to be lover rocking feverishly against her small frame, along with her warm mouth devouring the skin on her neck, Willow replaced her right hand back on top of the blonde's upper thigh. She gave the leg a quick, tight, squeeze before suddenly flipping them both over. Her smirking face now beaming down into the blonde's shocked features.

"That felt good and all," said Willow as she repositioned her legs, placing one on either side of Tara's left thigh. "But I like it on top." Giving the blonde one more mischievous grin, she pushed up her disheveled leather skirt before placing both of her hands on each of the girls knees, slowly raking her nails upwards until they came in contact with the already sodden cheetah print panties. Taking in a deep breath of air, she slowly crept her hands towards the waistband of the underwear, her eyes drifting upwards to meet those of the blonde to check if her advances where still wanted. Upon the received head nod from the Tara, her fingers bent hesitantly around the elastic waistband before nervously pulling the garment down the blondes silky smooth thighs.

Exhaling heavily, she let a small smile creep its way across the corners of her lips. "Oh, thank the gods," she said in a rushed breath, her eyes firmly fixated to the blonde's shaven, smoldering, sex. "So, so gorgeous."

"Glad you like," Tare said with a teasing smile, her arms coming up to rest behind her head. "Now, how about instead of drooling, why don't you put that well moistened tongue to work?"

"Sure thing." Willow replied enthusiastically, her body shooting forward to give the reclining blonde a quick, sweltering kiss before she got started. Unlatching her lips from the blondes tongue and mouth, "One second." she panted out as she scooted back onto her heels. Twisting around, she reclaimed the blondes discarded underwear, curled it into a ball and tossed it to her overly messy desk with as much force as she could muster. "Souvenir," she said with a grin as she crawled back up the blonde's body.

"And here I was thinking I was the souvenir," Tara said sarcastically, her hands shooting out, one entangling in Willow's flame colored locks as the other reached around to squeeze her shapely ass.

"Oh, baby, you are so much more than a souvenir," Willow growled out as Tara pulled her down by her hair and ass. Their mouths clashed together forcefully, tongues dueling it out for dominance as their kiss deepened. Yanking her head back from the other girl's now panting mouth, she stared into Tara's dilated blue eyes.

Leaning back down, she placed a forceful kiss at the corner of the blondes mouth before making a quick trail down the girls exposed neck, only stopping her ministrations once she reached the top of Tara's heaving chest. Nuzzling her face in between the blondes abundant cleavage, she let out a low growl, her left hand coming up to join her in her short diversion before continuing on with her advances. Nipping at the blondes exposed flesh, she continued to scoot towards the bottom of the bed, the blondes lustful eyes following her every move. Once positioned in between Tara's spread legs, she sat back on her haunches, her tongue poking out of her mouth expectantly as her hands pushed up the only item of clothing the blonde was still wearing.

"Like I said before," Tara panted out, her eyes half lidded as her right hand massaged her own breast. "Why don't you put that tongue t.." Before she could finish her sentence, Willow dove under her restraining skirt, her tongue flicking rampantly against her aching clit. "Ahh!" Tara screamed boisterously, her free hand shooting down to grasp the back of Willow's exposed neck.

Removing her tongue from where it was wildly licking at the blondes clit, she let out a small chuckle at hearing the girl's startled shriek before extending her tongue back out to lick the length of Tara's center a few times. With each passing flick of her tongue, she gathered as much of the blondes juices as she could before wrapping her lips around her swollen clit once more, this time sucking the hard nub into her mouth and keeping the bundle tight against her tongue.

"Ugh, uh fuck!" Tara gurgled out, the veins in her neck bulging as she strained her neck backwards in ecstasy, her right hand releasing from her death grip on her own breast to snatch up the loose fitted sheets in a fierce grasp as her other hand roughly massaged the back of Willow's sweat matted hair.

With the intense urging of Tara's hand on the back of her head, Willow let go of the other girl's clit. With her mouth now free to place lavish kisses along the blondes open folds, she dragged her tongue in a zigzag pattern downwards, flattening the wiggling organ before plunging it deep inside the moaning woman's hot canal.

At the feel of Willow's warm tongue briskly plunging inside of her, Tara jerked forward, her hips picking up speed to move in synch with the redhead's tongues talented strokes. After a minute of feverous stroking, the blonde started moaning incoherent words of approval as her hips gyrated wildly into the redhead's face, the knuckles on her left hand growing white from the death grip she held on the bed linens.

"Oh God … Don't, don't stop." Tara panted as she bucked her hips faster, hoping to encourage the redhead to do the same. With the slight increase of her hip thrusts, Willow picked up her own tongue strokes, effectively bringing the blonde over the edge. "Oh yes … yeessss!" she hollered as her orgasm ripped through her, her whole body shaking uncontrollably as the redhead still buried inside her added a few final strokes for added pleasure.

When she felt the final aftershock subside, Willow gently extracted her tongue from its warm and supple, tight embrace, before taking a couple of deep breaths and slinking her way back up the blondes still trembling body.

"That was … wow," Willow said with a grin as she placed a gentle kiss on the blondes parted mouth. Her left hand clasping with the blondes right one as she laid across the other women like a human blanket.

"Tell me about it," Tara said with a smirk, her breathing starting to return back to normal. Unclenching her death grip on the sheets, she used her now free hand to lovingly stroke Willow's glistening back. "Mmmh, you're all wet." Tara hummed out as she absently designed patterns over the redheads sweat soaked back.

"That's not the only place I'm wet," Willow admitted brazenly, her head lifting up off of the blondes shoulder to look into her sparkling blue eyes, her eyebrow raised roguishly.

"Is that so?" Tara asked, her eyebrow rising to match that of Willow's earlier gesture. Trailing the hand that was stroking Willow's back down her side then between their conjoined bodies, she gently cupped the smaller girls mound, a soft moan escaping her lip as she felt her wanton need. "Hmm, you weren't kidding."

"I was just," Willow started, her breath coming out in pants as she tried to concentrate on anything but Tara's unambiguous touch on her crouch. "so turned on … still am."

"I think I can rectify this situation," Tara purred as she grabbed a hold of the redhead's briefs, tugging them down to her knees in one fell swoop.

In an attempt to free herself of her binding undergarment, Willow brought her hands down and held onto Tara's hips as she kicked her legs out widely, frantically trying to dislodge her underwear from around her knees. Once the offending garment was completely off, she resumed her position nestled between the blondes open thighs, Tara's hand once again coming to rest on her over heated sex.

Feeling the redhead's sex bucking against her hand once more, she slipped her fingers into her copious wetness, running them along her lips teasingly. She let a toothy grin grace her face as she tenderly raked the dull nail of her index finger across the tip of the other woman's clit, the slim woman above her tightening her hold on her hips as a gasp of pleasure escaped through her clenched teeth.

"Awh, yea," Willow grunted out as the blondes fingers continued to toy with her hard bundle of nerves, alternating between light scratches and soft pinches. "Tara, please…"

The blonde was tempted to tease the redhead for a little while longer, however, an overwhelming need to be inside her paramour caused her to bring her fingers down, pushing one long, slender finger inside Willow's moist canal slowly. At the sound of Willow's guttural moan, and the way she used her hips to push further into the blonde, Tara allowed her finger to slide in even deeper.

"More. Tara, add … just more." Willow croaked out after a minute of pure thrusting, her grunts growing loader when another finger was added to her abundant wetness. "Oh, yes! More! Please more." she begged, her hips thrusting to what seemed like to no avail since she was not getting much friction from the blondes two slippery fingers.

Without a moment's hesitation, Tara removed both fingers from Willow's drenched canal before re-entering her in one deep and hard stroke with three fingers, curling them upwards with each thrust as she aimed for the redhead's sweet spot. As she pumped her arm faster, she could feel Willow's hands grinding their hips together, tighter, making the seam on her twisted leather skirt rub against her clit in an almost teasing manner. With a guttural growl, she repositioned her right arm to hook over the redheads bare back while her right leg hooked across the girls flexing right thigh, before swiftly flipping them both over so that now she was on top. With a satisfied smirk, she started thrusting harder into the redheads quivering vagina, the guttural sounds coming from the smaller girl spurring her on even more as she started moving her hips faster to try and get more pressure on both of their clits.

Feeling the blonde begin to move her hips more forcefully into her own, and sensing the reason behind it, Willow quickly removed one hand from off of Tara's ass and slid it up her skirt, slipping her hand inside the woman's folds easily as she ferociously rubbed at her throbbing clit.

"Oh, fuck me!" Tara shouted at the sudden, unexpected assault on her clitoris. "Oh yes. Yes. Yes." She repeated like a mantra as Willow's fingers sank lower, entering her swiftly with the down thrust of her hips.

Now, with both their hips and hands working diligently to bring about a multiple release, Tara felt the tell-tale sign of the redhead's orgasm swiftly approaching. Feeling the contractions begin to ripple around her clenched fingers, along with hearing the soft, hitched, sighs that indicated the redhead's impending orgasm, she shut her eyes tight and concentrated on the pleasure the smaller girl was giving her in return so that they could come simultaneously.

"Come with me, Tara," Willow groaned, the muscles in her neck once again straining against the intensity of her orgasm. "Holy shit! Please, come with me baby."

"I am," Tara panted, her hips pistoning forward at lightning speed. "Oh, god. I'm-"

"Coming," Willow finished, her chest rising and falling with the intensity of her heart jack hammering beneath her ribcage.

"Damn!" Tara husked out breathlessly, her orgasm having ripped through her like a runaway freight train. Putting her spare hand flat against the worn out mattress to keep herself somewhat steady as the waves of pleasure swiftly swept through her, shooting sporadically from one nerve ending to the next. Sighing in satisfaction after a moment of pure bliss, she let her head drop, nuzzling her sweat soaked forehead into Willow's neck for a moment before placing three chase kisses along her pulse point before laying her head flat on the other girls chest. "That was freaking amazing."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

As her racing heart slowly subsided back to its natural rhythm, Tara took her first conscious look around the redheads cluttered bedroom from her position on top of the occupant. Without raising her head, she moved her eyes around, starting first at the cluttered desk littered with open books, multi colored drawing utensils and most recently her own underwear. With a slight blush she fixated her sight on another part of the room just a few feet away. Hanging on the open closet door was a pair of torn jeans, a multi colored Hawaiian t-shirt that clashed horribly with two overly used, wrinkled towels which were carelessly tossed over the top of the adjured [adjoining] door. On the floor, in between the open closet door and the chipped dresser, which was overflowing with unfolded articles of clothing, sat numerous rows of semi-neatly stacked piles of comic books. With a quirked eyebrow, she raised her gaze to take in the artwork adorning the tattered wall papered and water damaged walls.

After a few moments of pure silence Willow lifted her head slightly off the bed to look at the other woman's face, checking to see if she was still awake, and more importantly to confirm she didn't regret what they had just done. Noticing the blonde was awake and staring off into the distance she hesitantly followed her gaze. Quirking a quick smile when she noticed the intense stare Tara had on one of her posters in particular, she decide to break the post coital silence.

"You know a lot of people have misconceptions of how she died." Willow said quietly as to not startle the woman snuggled closely on her chest.

"She OD'd, didn't she?" Tara asked, slowly shifting her gaze away from the black and white poster that had seen better days as she repositioned her head on the redhead's chest, her chin resting just under Willow's bony collarbone.

"Yeah, she OD'd." Willow confirmed with a slight nod. "But she wasn't on her last legs or anything like that. In fact, she didn't even take too much. It shouldn't have killed her. There was just something wrong with what she took."

"You mean she got a bad batch?" Tara asked quizzically, her right eyebrow quirking up in questioning.

"That's what happened." Willow agreed once more, her right hand all the while coming up to gingerly stroke through Tara's silky smooth hair. "In fact, when she died, it was considered to be the happiest time of her life."

"Oh yeah?" Tara asked as her eyes leisurely closed due to the soft caresses through her hair. "How so?"

"Well," Willow started as she looked up at the water splotched ceiling tiles. "She'd been fucked over so much by men, she didn't trust them."

"Who hasn't," Tara said absentmindedly with a wry smile.

With a slight chuckle Willow resumed her story telling. "Anyways, she's having this sort of serious relationship with this dude and he finally pops the question, and asks her to marry him. Now, other people had asked to marry her in the past, but she couldn't ever be sure whether they really loved her or, you know, were just after her money. So, like all the other times, she said no."

"Aw, poor Janis." Tara pouted, her eyes still closed as she luxuriated in Willow's gentle caresses. Opening her eyes, she looked up at Willow's upturned face. "What happened after that?"

"Well, the guy says to her, 'Look I really love you and I wanna prove it. So have your lawyers draw up a paper that says no matter what happens, I can never get any of your money, and I'll sign it.'" recited Willow as she lowered her head so she could gaze into the blonde's magnificent blue eyes. "So she does, and he signed the papers and he asked her once again to marry him and this time she said yes."

"Aww, how cute," Tara grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Yea," Willow said with her own smile as she continued to stare at the blonde. "Anyhow, once they were engaged, he told her this huge ass secret about himself that she never knew…"

"What is it!" Tara practically shouted as the redhead stopped talking.

"Gimme a second," Willow chastised, with a playful smirk. "I was trying to build up some suspense."

"I'm sorry," Tara apologized as she ran her right hand up and down the redheads exposed side. "Please continue your story telling … at your own slow pace of course."

"Hey!" Willow rebuked as she poked the blonde in the side with her free hand, causing the woman to squirm on top of her. Once Tara stopped giggling she resumed running her hand through her hair. "Well, as I was saying earlier before I was so rudely interrupted," she teased, "he tells her this secret; he was a millionaire."

"So he really loved her?" Tara asked hopefully as she readjusted herself into a slightly inclined position.

"Uh-huh." Willow said with a goofy, wide tooth, smile. "Very much so. So as I said before, it was the happiest time of her life."

"You're so smart, you know that?" Tara said in complete fascination. "I didn't know any of that about Janis. Just thought she OD'd."

"Nah, I'm not smart," Willow waved off the complement with a blush. With a snicker she proclaimed, "More like a useless vat of information."

"Oh I wouldn't say that." Tara said with a look of empathy as she leaned up to place a chase kiss on the redhead's small, protruding lips. As she pulled back, her own lips curved up in a sinister smirk, her hands slowly trailing down Willow's sleek body. "Besides, I'm pretty sure your vats not at all useless."

"Huh?" Willow mumbled confused. Before she could formulate a real response to the blonde's statement her eyes shot open wide, the other woman's mobile fingers having made their way to the very edge of Willow's molten hot core before two fingers swiftly plunged into her quickly forming wetness. "Tara!"

"Told you," Tara said smugly as her smoldering eyes penetrated Willow's flabbergasted ones. Leaning closer, so that her breath tickled that of the other woman's lips, "Not useless at all." Although her entrance was unexpected, her steady thrusting was gentle, full of passion, care, love and gratitude yet resolute all at once. With each stroke, Tara could feel her new lover's excitement trickle down her fingers from inside her and all-the-while the muscles sucked at them vigorously, letting them sink further inside with every thrust.

With each thrust of Tara's hand, Willow's response was to grind her hips forward and bite down savagely on Tara's upper lip, catching it with her teeth.

As she rode frantically on Tara's pumping fingers, she eventually broke the kiss, her head tilting backwards so her unseeing eyes stared up at the patchy ceiling above her. Although she was acutely aware of Tara's fingers moving deeply inside of her hot cunt, it was the feeling of the other woman's warm, taut breast pressing firmly into her own, along with her hot ragged breath that was harshly being panted into her ear which was quickly driving her towards the edge.

As Willow grunted out sounds of pleasure, Tara moved her head away from her ear, pulling back just enough to stare at the other girl's angelic expressions. Breaking her gaze away from the redhead, she scooted her upper body down just a fraction, repositioning the side of her face so that her flushed right cheek pressed against Willow's heaving chest in order to hear her frantically pounding heart, all-the-while managing to croak out a few words that distinctly sounded like, "you're mine" and "I love you," although even Tara herself couldn't be sure, let alone admit it.

With a lopsided smirk, she picked up the speed at which she was thrusting her hand, making each stroke sync up with the pounding of the redhead's heart. Just as Willow was beginning to make soft moans indicating she was nearing climax, Tara stopped her thrusts altogether and gently withdrew her fingers.

Snapping her eyes open, Willow looked around the room wildly before lowering her gaze onto the face of the grinning blonde still laying atop of her. Shaking her head in disbelief, she bucked her hips upwards insistently, feeling lost without the touch of Tara's fingers buried inside of her, not to mention cheated out of a release she desperately wanted and was so close to reaching. "Hey! What? No. No, keep going!"

Tara responded to Willow's command with a toothy grin, before lunging forward and catching the redhead's lips in a surprised kiss, her lower body thrusting hard against Willow's. So firmly were their bodies pressed together from the sudden change in position, they could each feel the thudding of the other girl's heart through the skin of their chests. No movement was possible between their connected body's save for tongues that were now thrusting deep in each other's throats and Willow's hands which were moving across Tara's back.

Ripping her head away from Tara's, Willow reached one hand up to grab Tara by her luscious golden mane. Yanking the blondes head down so that Tara's ear was placed next to her glistening, kiss ripened lips. Willow hissed, "I want you to fuck my brains out," into Tara's ear before biting savagely down on her earlobe, her teeth sinking into the flesh. "Now."

With a look of astonishment caused by Willow's words, Tara pulled her head back, but only far enough to find Willow's lips and smother them with her own. The redhead's lips parted almost instantly upon contact with Tara's, a clear indication of her readiness, as Tara's tongue disappeared within that heavenly warm space between them. There she found Willow's tongue and explored it with firm, lavish caresses that sent shivers down both their spines.

An agonized sigh escaped from Tara's mouth as she pulled away from Willow, her right hand traveling swiftly down the redheads glistening body during their feverish kisses. Leaning back in to take another nip of the redhead's lower lip, she plunged three fingers deep inside Willow's molten hot core once more, stretching out the skin that swallowed them. Tara's fingers slid slowly, torturously out of Willow and stroked up and down the inner lips of her pussy, exciting the redhead to a whimpering, begging, mumble of pleadings that came trailing from her mouth. Tara let out an exhalation that was part laugh and part moan, finding Willow's clitoris, hard and throbbing, with her fingers. Squeezing it gently, she then pinched harder, loving the way that the redhead squealed a reply of pleasure and shoved her pussy against Tara's hand.

As Willow continued to moan sounds of approval, Tara swiftly lowered her face down in between Willow's parted legs. Flicking her tongue out swiftly, Tara smirked as Willow yelped once more at the darting touch of her tongue against the redhead's engorged clit. Reaching out with her tongue again she ran the slippery organ in a long, leisurely stroke, leaving Willow squirming and craving for more. Eager to oblige the redhead's demands, Tara bestowed extra attention onto the girl's clit in an exploratory, teasing manner, testing out different techniques that really made her squirm as Tara became accustomed to the way the woman's body twitched

Propping herself up on her sweat drenched forearms Willow tried in vain to watch Tara lavish special attention to her mound, the sight of the blonde going down on her was quickly becoming one of her favorite sights. Willow watched for what felt like an hour but in reality was more like thirty second before her arms gave out and her head tossed back against the pillow behind her, her body thrashing about uncontrollably. Tara's gifted tongue was driving her to the brink of release, easily threatening to push her right over the edge, yet not willing to let her fall off completely. As her hands frantically searched the now linen free bed for something to grasp onto, she settled for two fistfuls of Tara's golden hair, twisting the fine strands between her digits. Her white knuckle grip which held Tara in place did not slow the blonde down one bit, if anything, Tara's movements on her clitoris became more intense and attentive.

Tara, knowing exactly what Willow needed, latched her mouth around the redhead's throbbing clit, sucking fiercely on the meaty piece of flesh. As she felt Willow's body start to quaver, Tara skillfully entered the other woman with two fingers, bringing about her release moments later in a rushing crescendo of raucous moans and a slur of profanities.

Willow's hips jerked upwards several times as Tara amorously placed kisses against her over-heated flesh, her hips twitching from the sensitivity before settling back against the bare mattress with the rest of her sweat soaked body. As Tara slowly removed her fingers from their hiding place, running the wet digits up her thighs and stomach in tender strokes, she nestled her head against the redhead's winded stomach, placing chase kisses around her belly button.

As Willow laid on her back, her right hand leisurely stroking through her sweat drenched hair, she stared through half lidded eyes at the water damaged ceiling, multiple scenarios of pulling Tara up the bed, flipping her over, and fucking her brains out with the same intensity she had just received passed through her mind. However, as Tara's kisses slowly subsided into chaste pecks, and her arm which was wrapped snuggly around the redhead's waist drew feather light circles around her pelvic bone, Willow's thoughts of ravishing the blonde beauty were quickly replaced. New images of the two of them spending hours together, tenderly stroking and lovingly exploring each other's bodies drew a smile across her face. Reaching down, Willow gently coaxed Tara up the bed, urging the blonde to nestle against her chest as she linked her arms around Tara's back.

Both women laid in the silence of the room for a few minutes, the only sound besides their mingled breath wafting in from the street below as the early morning traffic started to increase. "Tara I …" Willow began to speak, only to stop when she realized Tara's soft and regular breathing indicated that she was fast asleep. Twisting her neck slightly to the left, she shamelessly watched the blonde's face as she slept. Reaching out with the fingers on her right hand, she brushed back a few arrogant strands of wet hair, tucking it behind Tara's ear so she could study her face. Leaning forward, she places a chaste kiss on the gorgeous woman's forehead before settling back onto the mattress, preparing herself for dreams filled with a very happy and thoroughly fucked Tara.


	7. Chapter 7

Stretching leisurely, Willow flopped her right arm over the side of the bed that the blonde had previously been occupying. Patting her hand around on the cool, vacated sheets, she slowly pried her eyelids open, blinking them a few times to wipe away the sleep.

Pushing herself up then flipping over so that she was in a sitting position, Willow looked around her dismal room, hoping to spot Tara somewhere. Catching a light through the open door to her room, Willow pushed off the covers now adorning her lower half. Stepping out of bed, she walked over to the pair of torn jeans hanging off from her closet door and tugged them on before shrouding the Hawaiian t-shirt over her bare torso.

Exiting the bedroom, she listened intently for any sign or sounds of Tara. With a furrowed brow, she entered her empty living room, accepting the fact that the beautiful blonde had ditched her.

"Damn," she sighed as she plopped rather unceremoniously onto the couch. Kicking her right foot out in aggravation, the tip of her toes connected with an empty beer can, sending it flying towards the other end of the room. As she watched the can bounce around the cluttered floor, she noticed the slight rustling of the dingy curtains above, the fabric swaying from the light breeze flowing through the open window.

Arching her left eyebrow upwards, she pushed off of the couch, and slowly walked towards the open window. Making a quick pit stop at a hunter green, Seventies style swivel chair, she deftly pulled a large ratty fur coat salvaged from a thrift shop off the armrest and onto her slim frame as she continued to the window.

Pushing aside the grubby curtains, she scanned the terrace from which she often surveyed the city, before carefully easing herself feet first out the window in search for Tara. Tugging the flaps of her coat tighter against her chest to ward off the early morning breeze, she carefully walked down the catwalk, well-lit by a strange green under light which helped illuminate the enormous Marlboro billboard mounted on the roof of her building.

A few feet down, she spotted the huddled form of the blonde, sitting in one of her yellow plastic collapsible beach chairs, swathed in one of her large overcoats and a blanket. As she got closer to Tara, she noticed the blonde hastily wipe at her eyes in an attempt to compose herself, the tracks from where her tears had run still etched into her puffy red cheeks.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Willow asked quickly, dropping to her knees besides the blonde. "Did I do something? What'd I do?"

"Y-you d-didn't do n-nothin'." Tara said with a hitch in her, more tears threatening to escape her reddened eyes.

"Did you hurt yourself?" she hastily fumbled with the blankets so she could get a good look at the blonde's body. Not seeing any physical damage on it, she grasped one of Tara's feet, lifting it up slightly. "What'd ya do?" Replacing the girl's foot back into its blanketed cocoon, she re-wrapped the blonde up before taking a seat beside her in the other collapsible chair. "Stub your toe?"

"Willow, I've got something to tell you." Tara choked out, trying with all her might to not start crying again. "I didn't just happen to be at that theater tonight. In fact I … I've n-never even b-been to that theater before. That's w-why I took a taxi." Stopping to regain her composure and to wipe her nose on the blanket, she went on: "Willow, I was paid to be there."

"Huh? What are you, a theater checker?" Willow said jokingly, a goofy smile spreading across her lips as she stared at Tara. "You check up on the box office and snack girls? Make sure they're not ripping the place off, one popcorn container at a time?"

"I'm not a theater checker." Tara said in a small voice, her eyes darting anywhere but Willow's vibrant green eyes. "I'm a call girl."

"You're a whore?" Willow asked in a deadly serious tone after a moment's pause, the new information sinking in as she scanned her eyes up and down the woman's bundled body.

"No. I'm a call girl, there is a difference, you know." Tara snapped, her eyes finally fixing themselves on Willow's. Hopping out of her seat, she wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulder as she walked further down the catwalk, openly sobbing now. "I don't know, maybe there's not." she admitted, her head hanging low as she tried to take a deep breath between each sob.

"I don't get this," Willow started, her eyes following the blondes every movement.

Turning around, Tara held up her hand to stop Willow's speech. "Okay, here it goes. You know that place you took me to last night, the place you work."

"Hero Hangout?" Willow asked.

"Yeah," she said with a slight head nod, taking two steps back towards Willow. "… you got a boss, right?"

"Yeah... I got a boss." Willow said confused, still not quite understanding the whole situation. "He's a re…"

"What's his name?" Tara asked, cutting the other woman off once again as she once again spun around, her movements now consisting of a two-step pace in each direction as she talked.

"My boss? My boss's name is Ethan."

"That's him. He called where I work and ordered a girl for you." she proclaimed, stopping her pacing to readjust the coat she wore under the blanket, flipping the hood up to repel the slight wind that was rustling her hair. "He told them that you didn't get out much and he wanted you to get laid... Seein' it was your birthday and all." She huddled into her blanket even further as she started walking again, desperately trying to ward off the added cold from the sweeping winds from seeping through the fabric. "But he didn't want me just to show up all willy-nilly. He wanted me to act like I just bumped into you. Now, how did he know you were going to be at that theater?"

"Uh, well, I go to the movies every year on my birthday." Willow recollected as she too shuffled the large coat around her torso tighter. With a light chuckle, "In fact, he called me up this week to find out what my birthday movie was gonna be."

"You're not mad?" Tara asked quizzically, her eyebrows knitting together as she stopped in front of the redhead. Removing a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the jacket she wore, she picked out one of the sticks and placed it between her teeth, lighting it eventually with a blue lighter before shoving the device along with the pack back into her pocket.

"No, man." Willow said, shaking her head back and forth. "I can't tell you - That's one of the best times I ever had. It was..." she stopped talking to take a steadying breath, a timid smile playing across her face. "Hell, I can't tell you how relieved I was when I took off your panties, you didn't have a dick."

"Is that why you said 'Thank God'?" Tara asked in mortification as she glared at the redhead, her cigarette pinched between her thumb and forefinger. "I thought it was because I actually know that a razor is used for more than just shaving ones legs."

"No. Well, … yeah," Willow corrected herself with a goofy grin. "That was quite an amazing surprise as well. But um, I just … I knew something must've be rotten in Never-Land. There was no way you could've like me that much."

"Why are you acting all nonchalant about this? I mean, stop being so fucking calm about everything!" Tara shouted, flicking her half smoked cigarette over the ledge. "Go look in your house! There's a note on your TV. It says "Dear Willow," 'cause I couldn't write any more." she cried, her top teeth nervously biting into her lower lip as she stared at Willow. "So I just said, "Tamara, come clean and just tell her what's what. And if she tells you to go back to Rack and fuck yourself, then go back to Rack's and fuck yourself."

"Rack?" Willow asked, the left side of her face scrunching up in confusion. "What… what's a Rack?"

"Please shut up! I'm trying to come clean, okay?" Tara shouted, her tears now running freely down her face as her hands waved about frantically. "I've been a call girl for exactly five days, and you're my third customer. I want you to know that I am not damaged goods. I'm not what they call in Nebraska 'white trash.' I'm a really good person. And when it comes to relationships, I'm one hundred percent …," The last few words came out softly. Taking a step back from Willow, she rubbed her hands over her face, her makeup smudging together with her shedding tears. Combing both hands through the top of her hair to remove the loose strands from her face, she once again made eye contact with the redhead. Clearing her throat so she could try to say the sentence again. "I'm one hundred percent … monogamous."

"You stay with one person?"

"Exactly." Tara proclaimed with all honestly. "If I'm with you, then I'm with you, and I don't want anybody else. … Now, I gotta tell you something else."

"Oh shit," Will said wide-eyed, her face visibly panicking. "You didn't use to have a penis did you?"

"No," Tara half laughed, a small smile almost etching its way onto her face. "It's just… when you said last night... was one of the best times you ever had, did you mean physically?"

"Well, yeah." Willow said complacently with a huge grin. "But, I was talking about the whole night." she reassured the blonde as she scooted towards the edge of her chair. "I mean, I never had as much fun with a girl as I had with you in my whole life. It's true. You like Elvis. You like Janis. You sat through three Mad Max movies. Hell, you even like Star Trek.

"Actually, I don't like Star Trek." Tara said through giggles as she reclaimed her vacated seat. "That was part of the act. I can't stand that crap. Star Wars, Star Trek … it's all the same shit." She looked over at Willow who had a bemused smile on her face before taking a huge breath and carrying on.

"Willow …" Her voice cracked upon saying the other woman's name. Fighting back the tears that threatened to escape once again, she continued on "… and I feel really goofy saying this... after only knowing you one night…" Standing up from her chair once more, she took a few steps away from the redhead, their close proximity causing her distress. "… and me being a call girl and all- but I think I love you."

"Wait a second." Willow said after moment's silence, her head shaking back and forth in incomprehension. Pushing herself up from the chair she had been resting in, she walked over to the blonde. "Look, I've been tryin' to keep this whole thing in perspective. You first tell me you're a wh- call girl, but now you just said you love me." She stepped to the ledge of the catwalk and looked down, the five story drop allowing her to take in the early morning hustle and bustle of down town city life. Clenching her teeth together, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other while trying to think of something more to say to Tara. "Now, if I say I love you back and I just throw caution to the wind... and let the chips fall where they may, and you're lyin' to me, I'm gonna fuckin' die."

"I'm not lyin' to you," Tara promised as she laid a tentative hand on the redheads shoulder, carefully drawing her back from the ledge. Once Willow was a safe distance away from the edge of the catwalk, she spun her around. Staring deeply into the other girls emerald green eyes, she reached one hand up to gently caress her cheek, bringing their faces a hairs-breath apart. "And I swear from this moment forth, I'll never lie to you again."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Willow pulled her car up in front of a low unkempt building, her vehicle parking with two of its wheels up on the curb. The seedy tattoo parlor, which she and Tara were about to enter, was framed between an equally sketchy Chinese take-away and a under maintained Laundromat.

"You ready?" Willow asked, her head inclined towards the tattoo parlor's entrance.

Tara gulped nervously, shaking her head yes. Grasping the handle of the door, she held onto the cool metal for a few agonizing seconds before flinging the door open, stepping out of the car with an air of unfelt confidence.

The music inside the small shop blared from the medium size speakers that were unprofessionally screwed into the corners of every wall. The volume control on the black, dust covered sound system was turned up three fourths of the way, while the bass and treble were set on high. The booming voice of Billy Idol singing the chorus line to "White Wedding" reverberated throughout the studio, piercing the ears of the patrons just as intensely as the sterilized needles puncturing their skin.

Tara stared up at the ceiling as the overly hairy man worked on her tattoo, sweat drenching her body due to the excessively heated space. "Excuse me?" Tara piped up, gaining the tattoo artists attention. "Do you think you could turn down the heat just a teeny bit?"

Grunting his yes, the tattoo artist shook his head at his co-worker, indicating for him to go and lower the temperature in the shop. An aging English punk rocker pushed himself back from his position at the front desk to walk over to the thermostat, his attire consists of baggy, dirty brown cargo pants, tarnished Doc Martins, and an assortment of strange body modifications starting from his showing pubic hair all the way up to his shaved head.

Squeezing her eyes shut as the tattoo artist resumed his tattooing, her right hand gripped Willow's tightly. With her left hand that sported a mirroring tattoo, Willow caressed the hand held firmly in hers, stroking the flesh lovingly.

"It's almost over, sweetie," she cooed into the blonde's ear as she leaned towards her, placing a chase kiss on her sweat drenched temple.

Quirking one eye open, she looked over at the redhead. "I hope so," she said in a half giggle, her voice barely heard over the music. "This kind of hurts."

"I'm sorry, baby," Willow pouted as she brought the hand held in hers to her lip. Replacing their hands back on her lap, she cast her gaze around the small sweaty space, before it landed on a case holding various kinds of body jewelry. "Hey Tare, I gotta ask you a question."

"Sure, sweetie," Tara said through a grimace, the needle having hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"Who and what is a Rack?"

"Shh!" Tara said loudly, her eyes snapping open to look at Willow.

"Huh?" Willow asked confused, her head tilting to the side like a Cocker Spaniel.

"He was my pimp." Tara half whispered, her voice just loud enough for Willow to hear her over the music.

"You had a pimp?" Willow practically yelled, causing the tattoo artist and man behind the desk to stop what they were doing. "Sorry," Willow apologized sheepishly as she ducked her head.

"I was a call girl." Tara said to her designer to put his suspicion at ease. Turning her attention back to Willow, "Call girls have pimps."

"Was he black?" Willow ventured, curious about the man who Tara previously worked for.

"No." Tara said with a snicker. "He just thinks he is."

"Is he nice?" Willow questioned.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call him nice," Tara practically laughed. "But he treated me  
pretty decent. I was only there for five days … But, he did get a little bit rough the other day."

"What do you mean?" Her eyebrows knitted together at the thought that this man might have hurt her girl. "With you?"

"No." Tara corrected, her head shaking back and forth. "He got a little violent with my friend Amy."

"What did he do to Amy?" she asked, concern etched all over her porcelain skinned face.

"Mostly slapped her around a little bit," Tara said with a lip curl. "He kicked her a few times too. It was pretty scary."

"This motherfucker sounds beautiful." Willow snarled, her hand subconsciously tightening around the blonde's that was still clasped in hers, the girls knuckles turning white from being forced together. "What'd you do to end up with an ass-goblin like that?"

"All done," the tattoo artist spoke up as he rubbed a white gauze pad over the intricate wedding band tattoo on the blonde's ring finger, his voice breaking the couple out of their conversation. "If you'll follow me, I'll ring you out."

"Whoo-hoo!" Willow happily shouted as she bounced out of the tattoo parlor, hand in hand with the blonde. Spinning around, so that she faced Tara while walking backwards. "Well, hello, Mrs. Rosenberg."

Smiling broadly at the redhead's term of endearment, Tara responded in kind. "How do you do, Mrs. Rosenberg?"

"Very well, thank you Mrs. Rosenberg" Willow cooed, their joined hands coming to rest above her heart. "How about yourself Mrs. Rosenberg?"

"I'm splendid," Tara said through a wide grin, her steps shuffled due to the redhead's slow pace in front of her. "By the way, have you seen your new, lovely little wife today?"

"Are you speaking…" Willow started, only to stop when her back bumped into her parked car. Raising her free hand to grasp the blonde's hip, she spun them both around, pinning Tara to her car. Leaning forward, she lightly kissed Tara, nipping her bottom lip with her teeth as she pulled back slightly, her breath mingling with the other woman's. "…of my beautiful, charming, sexy wife, Mrs. Tamara Rosenberg?"

"Why, are there any others, Mrs. Rosenberg?" Tara asked saucily, her head leaning forward to recapture Willow's lips.

"No." Willow punctuated with a kiss. "None for me." she said around the kiss, her tongue trying to enter Tara's slightly parted lips.

"No." Tara half protested, her back arching away from Willow. "No."

"Yes." Willow purred through her predatory leer, her upper body bending forward with Tara's retreat. "Yes." she said again as their lips reconnected, Tara's mouth opening to finally allow her tongue entrance.

The duo sat together on Willow's dingy couch, the flickering blue light emanating from the T.V screen the only source of illumination in the dark space. As the movie played on, the eerie glow from the high action Karate movie danced across Willow's sullen face, her features darkened by her haunted thoughts.

Looking down at her newly tattooed finger, she gently traced the ink with her right index finger. Casting her gaze upwards, she looked over at her lover, a small, loving smile taking form due to the blonde's quirky antics.

"Kwaaa, huh. Osu!" Tara said enthusiastically, imitating the shouts of the karate fight taking place, her hands coming up to mimic the hand gestures.

Narrowing her eyebrows in deep concentrated thought, she sprang off of the couch and sauntered over to her bedroom.

"Where you going, honey?" Tara yelled after her, startled by the redhead's sudden movement.

"I just gotta get somethin'." Willow shouted back from her bedroom, her voice slightly muffled due to the distance. Storming around her room, Willow kicked at a pile of comics stacked at the foot of her bed, sending them flying in various directions. Growling in anger, she twirled around and stomped off to the adjoining bathroom.

Flicking the light switch on in her equally run down bathroom, she fluttered her eyes to the blinding orange light before stepping inside fully, the door slamming shut behind her. Stepping close to the sink, she gripped the sides of the porcelain sink tightly, her head turned downwards as her chest heaved up and down rapidly. Swiftly pulling her clenched hands away from the ceramic, she flung them across the top of the counter top, sending full bottles of prescription pills flying. With a calming breath, she regained her composure and rotated the round hot water knob three times before anything started to pour out. As muffled shouts and explosions wafted in through the thin walls from the living room, Willow splashed lukewarm water on her face, trying desperately to wash away the images that kept polluting her mind.

As the water droplets slowly rolled down her elfin face a familiar voice sounded behind her, the slight visage of the figure shimmered in her smudge covered mirror.

"Well?" came the feminine voice, her tone laced with criticism. "Can you live with it?"

Hanging her head low, Willow answered the all too familiar voice. "What?" Raising her right hand, she cleared a spot in her mirror to look through, not at all surprised to see her hallucinated image of her dead best friend. "What?" She asked again.

"Can you live with it?" the blonde figure asked once more, her arms crossed under her breasts.

"Live with what?" Willow feigned dumb, not wanting to answer the ghost's question.

"With that no good, son of a bitch walking around." the blonde growled out, her voice unnaturally cold. "Breathin' the same air as you? And gettin' away with it every day." she cocked her head to the side, a sinister look upon her face. "Are you haunted?"

"Of course I'm fucking haunted!" Willow shouted, her balled fist coming to slam down on the porcelain sink. "I see my dead best friend almost every fucking day."

"You wanna get un-haunted?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Yeah." Willow said through clenched teeth.

"Then shoot 'em." the girl said in a seething voice. "Shoot 'em right in the face. And feed that boy to the dogs."

"Buff … I can't believe what the fuck you're telling me." Willow said in shock, her face almost completely white, the color having drained due to the blondes words.

"I ain't tellin' ya nothin'." Buffy said in a mocking tone as she took a step closer to the redhead. "I'm just sayin' what I'd do… you know, if I was still alive."

"You'd really do that?" Willow asked in surprise, the thought of the women she called her best friend actually killing someone not sitting well with her.

"Bastard like that ain't got no right to live." Buffy said seriously, her mouth set in a snarl.

"Look, Buffy, he … you … this shit really is haunting me." Willow confirmed, her body shaking from the intensity of the conversation. "He doesn't deserve to live. And I really do want to kill him." she finally admitted her head spinning with the truth of it all. "But I don't wanna go to jail for the rest of my life over some piece of shit lowlife."

"I don't blame you sweetie."

"If I thought I could get away with it -" she trailed off, her gaze shifting to the floor

"Oh sweet, naïve Willow." Buffy chuckled, her tongue tracing her top teeth. "Killin' that bastards gonna be the hard part. Gettin' away with it … Now that is the easy part." With a maddening smile, the hallucination circled around the redhead's right side. "Whaddya think the cops do when a pimp's killed? Burn the midnight oil tryin' to find who done it?" She let out a rambunctious chuckle as she continued to walk around the redhead until she reached the closed door. "They couldn't give a flyin' fuck if all the pimps in the whole wide world took two in the back of the fuckin' skull. If you don't get caught at the scene with the smokin' pistol in your hand, you've gotten away with it."

Willow spun around, looking at the blonde in disbelief. "Buff, I …"

"Willow, I like ya." Buffy cut in as she spun around to the door, stepping halfway through the woodwork. Turning her head over her right shoulder to give the redhead one last look. "Always have, always will."

"Wait, Buffy!" Willow shouted after the ghost, sprinting to the doorway, she ripped the door open and ran through to try and catch up with the figure. Sliding to a halt inside her bedroom, she whipped her head back and forth in search of the hallucination. "Damn!" She grumbled as she took a few more steps in, sitting down abruptly on the foot of her unmade bed.

Dropping her head in her hands, her elbows digging deep into her thighs, she rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers. With a heavy sigh, she lifted her head up, her hands running through her red tresses until they reached the nape of her neck. Lifting her head up slightly, her gaze evened out with the top drawer of her dresser, the sound of her deceased best friend's voice echoing in her mind. 'If you don't get caught at the scene with the smokin' pistol in your hand, you've gotten away with it.' Hoping off of the bed, she marched towards her dresser, pulling open the first drawer and pushing aside her undergarments until her hand connected with cold hard metal.

Slowly, she pulled out the snub-nosed .38 from its hiding place, the weapon feeling foreign in her hand as she turned it over. Clicking back the hammer, she raised her arm and closed her left eye, lining her vision up with the front sight. Satisfied with the alignment, she re-cocked the hammer and unclipped the cylinder release latch, watching as the cylinder swung out to reveal a fully loaded chamber. With a look of determination she slapped the cylinder close and hefted her right foot up against the chest of drawers, her free hand pushing up her jean clad ankle as she secured the gun inside the heavy athletic sock she was wearing.

Placing her foot back on the floor, she slammed the drawer shut before looking around her tiny bedroom, her eyes taking in the clutter. With her resolve face set, she stepped out of her bedroom and towards the blonde, the slick metal of the gun rubbing against her skin with each step.

"Hey sweetheart, you alright?" Tara asked with concern as she watched Willow storm back into the room.

"I'm fine," Willow dismissed as she walked up to the coffee table, her hands frantically searching for something. Snatching up a pen and a piece of blank white paper from one of the many bills lingering on the table, she sauntered over to the blonde. "Tare. I need you to write down your former address."

"What?" Tara asked in disbelief, not believing what she heard.

Shoving the crumpled piece of paper and pen into the blonde's hand. "Write down Rack's address. Okay."

"Why?" Tara asked in a demanding tone, Willow's action causing panic to arise within her.

"So I can go over there and pick up your things." Willow said, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

"No, Willow." She said, her voice cracking with apprehension. Dropping the pen and paper back onto the table, "Just f-f-forget it, babe. I jus' w-wanna disappear from there."

Kneeling down in front of the shaking blonde, she reached out to hold her lovers hands. "Look, sweetheart, he scares you but I'm not scared of that motherfucker." she said, her voice wavering to stay even in tone. "He can't touch you anymore. You're completely out of his reach. He poses absolutely no threat to us. So if he doesn't matter, which he doesn't, it would be stupid to lose your things now, wouldn't it?"

"You don't know him -" Tara pleaded, her hands gripping tight to Willow's

"You don't know me." Willow growled as she shot up into a standing position, her hands yanking away from the blondes. Running a hand through her hair, she looked down at Tara, the blonde's eyes red rimmed with unshed tears. Dropping back to her knees, she reclaimed the other woman's hands, kissing them repeatedly. "I'm sorry, it's just … when it comes to shit like this, I just … I have to do this. I need for you to know you can count on me to protect you."

"I d-do," Tara said through a sniffle, their joined hands coming up to wipe away a newly shed tear.

"Now," she re-grabbed the supplies and handed them back to Tara. "Write down his address."


	9. Chapter 9

Her rusty, two tone, 1968 Plymouth GTX 440 convertible sailed down the mean streets of downtown Boise, the dim headlights barely visible against the darkening skies. As she neared her destination, her foot eased off the gas pedal, her eyes carefully scanning the dangerous streets for any threats.

The dealers, pimps, and filth of the world were starting to emerge, this particular section of town having been taken over years ago. People of their caliber had swarmed into the area in mass waves, taking over the small community with sky rocketing crime rates as they just moved straight into the large Victorian mansions, which at one point in time had been nice.

That time however had long gone; all the houses that somehow still remain standing were now in an accelerated state of decay. Between the houses, in what were once spacious grounds to play in, there now existed only a no-man's land where all of the deals took place. Here, the living dead of the drug world wandered about, striking deals in the shadows in a faux sense of privacy.

Turning her attention back to the road, she tapped the gas, accelerating through the neglected town until she arrived at the address written on the back of her electric bill. Shutting down the engine and unlocking her doors, she cautiously stepped out of her cobalt blue Plymouth, highly aware of the dangers that lay ahead.

Leaning up against her driver door, she raised her right index and middle finger to her neck, checking the erratic beating of her heart. Dropping her hand to her sides, she rubbed her sweaty palms against her jeans before pushing off the rusty, dented door. Looking down the large, wide open field in dread, she quickly thought of something that would quickly psych herself up.

"Yeah… yeah…" she said in her best Elvis impression, doing a quick gyration to match. With a new sense of courage, she set off for the large open field, a beat to her stride that screamed "confidence". But with each step into the dimly lit expanse, thoughts of 'What the hell am I doing?' began to creep into her mind.

A few yards up ahead, against the dilapidated houses, Willow caught sight of an eerie glow that at one time may have been fireflies circling in the crisp night air, but now she was pretty certain it was the lighting of multiple crack pipes. As she approached the building, a diseased looking dealer seemingly appeared out of thin air and crossed over to the redhead, figuring she was there to score.

"My silky fine honey, let me show you to the white lady, so you can show me the money." said the junkie, stopping Willow dead in her tracks. "I got crack, crank, smack, dope…man, I'll sell you hope." He ticked off in a single breath. "Shit'll send you to the moon and back. And that is a fact!"

"I'm good," Willow said with disdain, edging around the filthy looking man in order to continue her walk towards Rack's house.

"Chill, man, life ain't that bad." The drug dealer shouted, waving the redhead off with both hands as he walked off to confront another customer.

Stepping up to the massive brown door of the house, her heart started racing once again, her confidence starting to waver. With the crumpled bill that Tara wrote the address on in her hand, she raised it to the door, knocking forcefully with her clenched fist. After a few seconds of silence a massive African American opened the door, his face cast into an ugly snarl.

"You looking for somethin' , sweet cheeks?"

"You Rack?" she asked the man, her tone kept low and menacing.

"Nah, man, I'm Forest." He corrected. "Whatcha want?

"I gotta talk to Rack? As the sentence came out as more of a question then a demand, it caused her to kick herself internally.

"Well, what the fuck you wanna tell him?" Forest asked, pushing the door open more so that the redhead could see the automatic handgun strapped around his chest, hanging in easy access at his side.

"It's about Tara." she said, lifting her head up higher in a show of self-confidence.

Stepping out of the doorway, he nodded the redhead inside, motioning to her which way to move with the barrel of his gun. With one last nod, he directed her into a dimly lit room filled with smoke, the thudding sound of a man rapping in the background nearly drowned out by the volume of the T.V. playing.

"She was askin' about Tamara," said Forest as he brushed passed the redhead to stand next to his boss.

"Where the fuck is that bitch?" Rack snarled as he picked at a plate of food that sat in front of him with chopsticks. Various empty take-out boxes of Chinese food lay scattered about the surface. The couch on which the drug dealer sat was tarnished and adorned with multiple cigarette burns and soy sauce blotches. To the left of him, mounted on the wall, a black exploitation movie 'The Mack' with Max Julian played on the TV.

Standing silently in the doorway, she took in the pimp's appearance, starting with his filthy brown, dreadlock hair and the scars adorning the upper left side of his face. From there she ran her eyes over his worn down fuzzy red robe that barely concealed his hairy grey chest and soiled white boxers. This is not how she expected to confront Rack, but at the same time exactly what she expected the dealer to be like. Positioning herself in front of the food table, she demanded Rack's attention. "She's with me." Willow said sternly, her eyes locked on the man who dared to raise a hand to Tara.

"And who the fuck are you?" Rack asked with a smirk, his wooden utensils pointing at the redhead.

"I'm her wife." Willow said firmly, her gaze still fixed on the poor excuse of a man sitting before her.

"Well, that makes us practically related." The pimp laughed mischievously as he waved Willow over. He shoveled more food into his mouth and went on, "Bring your ass on in. Grab a seat there, chica. Want some dinner? Grab yourself an eggroll. We got everything here from a diddle-eyed Joe to a damned-if-I-know."

"No, thanks," Willow said evenly.

"No, thanks?" Rack said back sneeringly, his scarred eyebrow rising on his wrinkled forehead. "No thanks? What does that mean?" he questioned as he dropped his chopsticks on the table. Stippling his fingertips together, "Means you ate before you came on down here? All full? Is that it? Nah, I don't think so. I think you're too scared to be eatin'." He wiped his greasy fingers on the already soiled couch before lifting his right hand up to grab the swinging overhead light. Tilting the shade forward, he positioned the light in the redhead's eyes, blinding the woman.

"Now, see, we're sitting down here ready to negotiate, and you've already given up your shit." He released his grip on the light so that it fell back into its normal resting place. With a light push from the tips of his fingers he sent it sailing towards Willow's face. As the light sailed back towards him, he caught it and brought the shade to a halt, his left hand all the while rotating around as he spoke. "I'm still a mystery to you. But, I know exactly where your white ass is comin' from." he quipped as he once again pushed the shade at the woman, this time faster and narrowly missing her nose.

"See, if I asked you if you wanted some dinner and you grabbed an eggroll and started to chow down, I'd say to myself 'This motherfucker's carryin' on like she ain't got a care in the world. And, who knows, maybe you don't." he said as a sardonic smile sketched across his lips, his eyes locked onto the green ones in front of him. "Maybe this fool's such a bad motherfucker, she don't got to worry about nothin'." Once again he flashed the light upwards into the intruder's eyes, casting a glow upon her face in order to get a better look at her features. "She jus' sit down, eat my Chinese, watch my TV." He gestured to the TV on the wall with his left hand as he flung the light fixture forward again a few times.

"See? You ain't even sat down yet." Rack said with an evil chuckle, his tongue making a sucking noise against his top teeth. Gesturing with a quick bob of his head, "And that TV there, since you been in the room, is a woman with her breasteses hangin' out, and you ain't even bothered to look." At his mention of the television, Willow casted a quick glance towards the electronic device before focusing her full attention back on Rack. Rotating the lamp so that the light bulb now shined on his own face, "You jus' been starin' at me. Now, I know I'm pretty, but I ain't as pretty as a couple a titties." he declared with a shit-eating grin, the gold capped tooth covering his left central incisor now visible under the direct light. Spinning the lamp back around, he hurled it at the redhead once more, the smirk leaving his features as he did so.

Catching the lamp at it sailed towards her head; she gave the drug dealer a stern look before releasing the shade back in his direction.

"Oh, wee, this child is fierce," Rack mocked as he easily dodged the lamp.

"I'm not eatin' 'cause I'm not hungry." Willow stated firmly as she reached her right hand inside her jacket. "I'm not sittin' 'cause I'm not stayin'. I'm not lookin' at the movie 'cause I saw it seven years ago." she proclaimed as she removed her hand from where it was nestled and placed a white envelope on the filthy coffee table. She took a step back as Forest reached for the envelope. "It's 'The Mack' with Max Julian, Carol Speed and Richard Pryor. And I'm not scared of you. I just don't like you. In that envelope is some payoff money. Tamara's moving on to some greener pastures. We're not negotiating. I don't like to barter. What's in that envelope is for my peace of mind and my peace of mind alone. And my peace of mind is worth exactly that much." She held up her right index finger to punctuate exactly what she meant. "Not one red cent more."

All sound seemed to have faded away as soon as Willow started talking. The thudding of the obnoxiously loud music in the other room seemed just a distant migraine as the three occupants of this room became quite enough to hear a pin drop. Forest stood at complete attention beside his boss, his hand resting uneasily against his weapon as his right fist clenched the envelope. Pushing his tray of food out of his way, Rack motioned for Forest to hand over the envelope.

Sliding his thumb into the corner of the envelope, Rack briskly brought his hand upwards, tearing apart the sealed casing. Looking inside the packet with disdain, he flipped it over to show Forest, wiggling the flaps open all the while. "It's empty."

Flashing a wide Cheshire cat grin that said "That's right, asshole" Willow let out a soft chuckle.

Letting out a laugh of his own as he stared the redhead down, "Forest, you know what wegot here? A motherfuckin' Bonnie Parker. Is that who you supposed to be, Wonder Woman? Looky, here, Bonnie, none of this shit is necessary. I ain't got no hold on Tamara." he claimed as he sucked on the pad of his thumb. Twisting to his side, he started fidgeting with a small card table adorn with knickknacks. "I jus' tryin' to lend the girl a helpin' hand."

Before Rack even finished the sentence, he picked up the card table and threw it at Willow, catching her completely off guard. Running up behind the unbalanced woman, Forest wrapped his arms around her neck, putting her in a tight choke hold. Struggling to remove the larger man's grip with her right hand, Willow, with her free arm, hit Forest hard with her elbow in the solar plexus just as Rack took a flying leap and tackled them both to the ground.

As all three of them crashed backwards into the stereo unit, the shelves above which had held an assortment of records collapsed to the floor in a shower of LP's. With Forest on the bottom of the pile and Rack on top, he refused to let go of his tight grip, holding the wriggling woman in place.

With the woman held fast, Rack repositioned himself on top of the redhead before slamming his fist into her face. "Ya wanna fuck wit' me!" Rack yelled at the woman sandwiched between them as he hit her. "Ya wanna fuck wit' me?" he asked again, sending another punch to her face. "I'll show ya who you're fuckin' wit'!" he said as he used both fist to hit Willow hard in the face.

Willow, having no leverage whatsoever lying on her back, grabbed hold of Rack's scarred face and dug her nails into his rough textured skin. Lowering her hand down his scabby face, she stuck her thumb inside Rack's mouth, grabbing a piece of cheek and twisting vigorously. As the pimps face started to tear, the dealer bit down hard on the redhead's thumb, instantly drawing blood.

Forest, who was lying in an even worse position, couldn't do anything to help his boss  
except tighten his grip around Willow's neck. Raising her head slightly, she brought it back down hard on the subordinate's nose, breaking it instantly with a crunching sound. As he lost his grip on Willow's neck, she wriggled free from her captive position and got up on her knees, pushing Rack backwards.

Crawling away on her hands and knees, Willow scurried away from the drug dealer and his body guard, hastily trying to get to the adjoining room. Just as she reached the doorway to the other room, Rack jumped over the squirming Forest, landing roughly on the smaller woman's back. As the two rolled around on the ground, Willow gained the upper hand, coming to rest on top of the sadistic dealer as she rained punches down onto his face.

Just as she was about to land another punch to the drug dealers face, Forest sneaked up behind Willow and smashed a stack of LP's over her head. With the few seconds of disorientation, Forest grabbed her from behind and pulled the redhead to her feet.

Scrambling to his feet, Rack sauntered over to Forest and landed a right hook on the redheads already bleeding cheek. Taking two steps back, he twitched his right leg in anticipation before taking a short sprint forward and kicked the woman in the stomach. As the redhead groaned in pain, he motioned for Forest to let go, watching as Willow hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. Curling up into a fetal position and holding her stomach, tears sprang to the redhead's eyes, leaking out slowly.

"You okay? That stupid dumb-ass didn't break your nose, did she?" Rack asked as he whipped blood from his brow.

"I thin' she did more than break it," Forest wheezed out, his hand covered in blood as he held it under his disfigured nose.

"You see what you get when you fuck wit' me, chica?" Rack said as he kicked her again, gaining pleasure in watching her gasp in pain. "You're gonna walk in my goddamn house, my house! Gonna come in here and tell me!" Grabbing the redhead by the back of the shirt, he started to drag her back into the room they were originally talking in. "Talkin' that smack in front of my employees. Shit! Your ass mus' be crazy.

Releasing his grip on Willow's shirt, he raised his hand to the lamp that he had been swinging around prior to the fight. He shone it down on the semi-conscious woman. "She must o' thought it was whitie day. It ain't whitie day, is it?" he asked Forest with a snort, as he released his hold on the shade.

"Nah, man, it ain't whitie day." Forest said with a chuckle as he examined his gushing nose in a small hand held mirror.

"Shit, man, you done fucked up again." Rack said with a snicker as he lent over the redhead's prone form. "Next time you go and Bogart your way into a nigga's crib and get all in his face, make sure you do it on whitie day.

"Wannabee Nigger..." Willow croaked out, her voice sore.

"Fuck you! My mother was Apache!" Rack said, kicking the woman in anger. Bending down, he patted his hands over the redhead's worn out jacket, searching for a wallet. Pulling a small ratty looking leather bound wallet out of one of the pockets, he flipped it open to the driver's license. "Well, well, well, looky what we got here." He climbed on top of the redhead, so that his pelvis rested against the woman's hip. "Willow Rosenberg. Mmmh, cute."

"And now I know where you live, 11 Nth Hamilton Street, apartment 4B. And I'll make a  
million dollar bet Tamara's at the same address. Forest, take the car and go get 'er. Bring her dumb ass back here." He hands Forest the driver's license before turning his attention back to Willow. Rocking his pelvis back and forth against the redhead, he went on "I'll keep our little skirt chaser here entertained."

"You know the first thing I'll have her do when she gets here? I think I'll make her suck my dick till I cum in her mouth." Rack said, taunting the suffering woman. "I mean it ain't nuttin' new. She's done it before. But I want you as an audience."

A noise from the other room startled Rack from his train of thought. Turning his head over his left shoulder, he hollered at his lackey. "Forest, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find my jacket." Forest yelled from the other room.

"Look in the hamper. Sierra's been dumpin' everybody's stray clothes there lately."

With the drug dealer's attention directed to his right hand man, Willow stealthily reached into her sock for the .38 snub nose pistol. Pulling the gun out, she stuck the barrel of the gun in between Rack's legs. Rack, which was now standing over her, looked down just in time to see Willow pull the trigger. As he flew backwards from the power of the gun, his voice shrieking in horror and pain as he slammed into the wall behind him, blood speckling Willow's face.

"What's happening?" Forest inquired as he barged into the room with Willow's I.D. still in hand, two hookers following close behind him.

Without hesitation, Willow unloaded four bullets into the man's chest as he stepped fully into the room. As Forest's body slumped to the floor like a bag of bricks, the item in his hand dropped unnoticed to the floor. One of the hookers that had been standing behind the now deceased man ran out of the room screaming as the other hooker crumpled to the floor, her head cradled in her hands.

Willow pointed the gun at the remaining hooker, "You. Get a bag and put Tamara's things in it!" When the prostitute didn't move she yelled louder. "You wanna get shot?" she asked. "I ain't got all fuckin' day sweetheart, so move it!

The hooker, with tears of fear ruining her mascara, grabbed a suitcase from behind the couch, and on her hands and knees, pushed it along the floor to Willow. Taking the suitcase by the handle she wobbled over to where Rack sat howling, his hands covered in blood as he clutched what was left of his genitalia.

She pointed the gun at the bridge of the dealer's nose, "Open your eyes, laughing boy." When the man refused to do so, she gave him a kick to the shin. "I said open your eyes! You thought it was pretty funny, didn't you? Well fuck you!" She pulled the trigger on the gun, watching as the bullet sailed through the center of his forehead. "Fuck you!"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The TV in Willow's apartment now played a common late night soup opera, the actor showboating a range of various emotions as he cried over his departed lover. Tara, fully engrossed in the show, jumped at the sound of the front door being kicked open and a suitcase unceremoniously being dropped.

Removing her newly lit cigarette from her mouth, Tara watched her lover walk into the room with a slight limp. The black aviators Willow wore and the dark blue hoodie tightly secured around her head hide her features. Pulling the ashtray closer to herself, she snuffed out the cigarette as the redhead took a seat on the couch, depositing a bag full of McDonalds and two large soft drinks onto the table.

"I killed him." Willow blurted out in an exasperated whisper, as she removed a hamburger from the bag. "You want a hamburger or something, because I'm freaking starving. I think I ordered one of everything."

"Is t-this a joke?" Tara stuttered out in a daze, her eyes completely glazed over as she stared at her lover.

.

"No joke." Willow proclaimed as she shoved the hamburger into her mouth, taking a larger than life bite out of the sandwich. "This is probably the best hamburger I've ever had. I'm serious," Willow declared through a mouthful of masticated beef. "I've never had a hamburger taste this good."

Rubbing her right hand across her forehead before bringing her other hand up to cup her head completely, Tara started to cry as Willow continued eating, ignoring her silent tears.

"Come on, Tare, eat something." Willow waved off, taking a swig of soda. "You'll feel better."

As the redhead continued to eat her already half-finished hamburger, Tara dropped her cupped head into her lap, her once muffled sobs starting to grow loader as she continued to cry. As her body started to shake with the intensity of her sniffles, Willow spun around in her seat, chucking her sandwich onto the table with a fierce intensity as she yelled at the blonde.

"What the fuck are you crying for, huh?" She asked in anger. With the hand that held the soda she pointed towards the door. "Christ, he's not worth one of your tears. Would you rather it been me? Is that it? Huh? Is that what you want? I mean, do you love him?"

"Do you love him?" she asked again in annoyance, her jaw clenched. When no answer was forth coming, "I said, do you fucking love him! Huh?" she practically screamed, her face crimson red with anger.

With tearful eyes, Tara looked at Willow, having a hard time trying to get the words out. "I t-t-think what y-you d-did was..."

"What?" Willow growled, leaning closer to the blonde.

"I t-t-think w-w-hat you d-did..." Tara stammered, her head bowed low so she wouldn't have to look into the redhead's eyes.

"What!" Willow demanded an answer as she slammed her drink down on the table, the blonde's hindering stutter annoying her for the first time since they've met.

"I t-think what you d-did... was so romantic." Tara professed as she crawled across the couch to sit on Willow's lap.

Taken completely aback by the blonde's statement then sudden movement, she was unprepared for the passionate kiss Tara bestowed upon her blood speckled lips. Responding in kind, she parted her swollen lips to grant access to Tara's questing tongue, allowing the slippery muscle to enter her mouth and lick at her bruised flesh.

Raising her hand to caress Willow's face, she pushed her fingers up to remove the thick glasses from off of her lovers face. Gasping in shock as she removed the sunglasses, "Oh baby, you're bleeding." her voice cracked and tears threatened to fall from her eyes as she took in the sight of Willow's bleeding and bruise covered face. With shaking hands, Tara tenderly ran the tips of her fingers down the redheads face until they got to her lips. Leaning forward, she replaced the light feather touch of her fingertips with her own lips, kissing Willow as gently as she could.

"I have your things right here." Willow said around the kiss, her cracked lips grazing against Tara's moist ones as her hands circled around Tara's back.

Pulling away slightly to look at the aforementioned suitcase, "Ah, clean close." She said with a smirk. Leaning back in, Tara wrapped her arms around Willow's neck before kissing her again.

"I love you," Willow said as she placed a chaste kiss on Tara's lips.

"I love you too, sweetie," Tara responded in kind as she reciprocated the kisses on Willow's flesh, her lips lightly grazing across the redhead's silky neck. Trailing from her jawline back to her mouth, Tara planted one more breath taking kiss on her partners mouth before pulling back completely, giving Willow room to get up and retrieve the suitcase.

Walking over to the door, Willow picked up the suitcase and brought it over to the couch, flinging it up on the coffee table for the blonde to look through.

"Clean clothes. There is a God." Tara said sarcastically as Willow rotated the suitcase in. front of her. Unzipping the suitcase, she flipped the flap open only to sit back in shock as she and Willow stared slack jawed at the contents inside the suitcase.

"Willow. T-these aren't m-my c-clothes." Tara said in a nervous stutter as she looked down at the suitcase, the inside filled with neatly wrapped bricks of cocaine.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The early morning swirls of pink and orange mingled together as the first rays of sunlight danced across the hood of the white Ford Thunderbolt that was parked in the farthest section of the Jewelry Stores empty parking lot. The owner of the car belonged to the security guard who ran the night shift before two fresh-faced men straight out of high school swapped with him for the morning.

Just as the sun started to break over the horizon, the back door to the aforementioned building banged open, disturbing the quite that had settled over the town during the night. As the rusty door squeaked open, a tall slouched shoulder man in his early fifties stepped out into the crisp morning air, a Styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee in one hand and his car keys idly swinging around the ring finger of his other hand as he whistled an unidentifiable tune. Taking a step forward, he reached behind him with his right foot, kicking the door closed. Pausing for a second, he listened to the sound of the metal clicking shut and the alarm system activating with the sound of three load distinctive beeps. With a satisfied smirk, he proceeded to make his way towards his car.

As he reached the driver side door of his vehicle, he placed his now half empty cup of coffee on the roof of the car as he positioned the ignition key in the door lock slot. Just as he was about to unlock the door he caught sight of his own reflection in the tinted windows, his expression glooming immediately.

The image reflected back to him through his own car window showed a ghost of a man he used to be. His handsome visage long forgotten as the years of mistreatment from his "good old days" took their toll on his worn down body. The years off of the force, not having been any kinder to him, now that he thought about it. Hours behind a desk, slouched over a TV monitor with nothing to eat at such late hours except for convenient store candy and fast food takeout was also doing a number on him. His body was no longer muscular like it had once been. His "chick magnet" body from twenty years ago now consisted of a slopped back, a grey receding hair line, and a beer belly from an alcoholic problem long overcome.

His mood dimed even further as he took in his receding hair line, wrinkled forehead, and the crow's feet adorning the corners of his eyes. With his hand that had been previously holding the coffee cup, he slowly raised it to his thinning hairline. Gingerly he ran the tips of his fingers through his no longer red hair, the transgression from vibrant auburn to speckled gray seeming to happen overnight.

With much distain, he lowered his hand to his side, his knuckles brushing against the itchy texture of his pants. With a deep breath of indignation he casted his eyes downwards to the mockery that was now called his "uniform." No, not even his uniform, but a hammy down from a previous employee long gone. The color no longer the same shade it once was, but instead a dingy grey which could never be compared to the pristine navy blue he once used to wear. No. Everything about this "uniform" was all wrong, right down to the silver name plate attached to his lapel. The name plate, with his name "IRA" imbedded in bold, was another slap to his ego as he though back to the gold shield and number he used to wear that actually meant something.

With a deep sigh, he removed the cup of coffee from the roof of his car. Opening the driver side door, he gingerly lowered his bulky frame into the bucket seat, inserting the key into the ignition. Carefully placing the Styrofoam cup into the holder so as not to spill it all over his immaculate vehicle, he shifted the car into drive and drove out of the parking lot, all-the-while resuming his whistling from earlier, the tone sounding much somber than before.

After twenty minutes of navigating through the vacant town, he rounded the corner to "Shady Meadows" trailer park. The place he called home, a rusty no longer moveable camper, was located in the middle of the small, run down complex situated close to the train tracks. Those that still lived in the park either didn't mind the 5am wakeup call every morning, or they were just too broke to move anywhere else.

As Ira maneuvered his car slowly down the gravel pavement, a figure sitting a-top a parked car in front of his home caught his attention. Bringing his car to a stop, he stared for a few minutes at the figure he thought he would never see again. As he shut his car off, a little, bitty tear escaped from the corner of his right eye and rolled down his cheek as his emotion started to choke him up. As he watched the figure a-top the care slide off the hood and saunter in his direction, he swiftly removed the tear from his face with the back of his sleeve.

Reaching the driver side door, the new arrival bent down and stuck their head through the rolled down window. "Good morning, Daddy, long time no see."

"Willow" Ira said in an airy tone, the sight of his daughter after so many years making it hard for him to breathe. "You're … you're all grown up."

"Yea, that's what happens when eight years go by." Willow said aloofly. "Anyways pops, sorry to barge in on you all unannounced, but we really need your help." Willow casted a glance back at her car where Tara still sat in the passenger seat.

Sensing the urgency in his daughter's voice and the worry in her eyes, he motioned for her to move away from the car so he could open the door. Stepping out of his vehicle, he casted a look at the unnamed blonde before looking back at his daughter. Slamming the door shut, "let's go inside."

Signaling to Tara to follow, Willow fell in step behind her father as the duo walked up the weed invested pathway leading to his mobile home. As they climbed the two chipped makeshift steps made out of cement block leading into the trailer, Ira fidgeted with the keys looking for the one to unlock his front door. Pushing open the mold splotched wooden door with a load squeak, Ira looked sheepishly behind him at the two girls, motioning for them to follow him inside.

As all three enter the trailer home, Ira hastily moved around the cramped space trying to tidy up. Walking over to the couch, he scooped up an arm load of clothing, depositing them in the corner where a dirty pair of boxers already laid before gesturing for the girls to come sit. "Excuse the place; I haven't been entertaining company as of late" Ira said solemnly as he picked up an empty can of soda and placed it in a half filled trash bag.

"It's fine," Tara said humbly as she gingerly stat down on the edge of the couch.

"No problem pop," Willow replied as she brushed crumbs off the couch cushion. "My place isn't much better."

"Sorry if I'm coming across as a little dense here, but you're the last person in the world I expected to see this morning" Ira said, finally stopping his haste cleaning, a crumbled bag filled with McDonald wrappers in one hand.

"Oh, that's fine, Dad. I tend to have that effect on people." Pushing off of the couch, she walked past her father into the little nook classified as the kitchen. "I'm dyin' of thirst, you got anything to drink?

"There might be a Pepsi in there. Not sure if the milk is good anymore." Ira said.

Rummaging around the rust bucket of a refrigerator, she moved the expired container of milk to the back of the fridge, making room to see what else there was to drink. Pulling out the can of diet Pepsi, she looked at it in disdain. "Anything stronger?" she asked her father with a raised eyebrow before immediately correcting herself. "Oh, probably not.… Beer? You can drink beer, can't you?"

"I can," Ira replied honestly with a soft sigh, "but I don't."

Placing the can of soda back in the fridge with a shake of her head, "That's about all I ever drink."

Shaking his head at his daughter, Ira walked out of the joint kitchen and into the living room. Looking at the girl sitting on his couch with a sweet smile on her face, he realizes they haven't yet been introduced. "I'm sorry …. I'm Willow's father," he said as he walked closer, his right hand stretched out before him.

"That's okay, I'm her wife," Tara replied with a nervous chuckle as she shook the older Rosenberg's hand vigorously. "Tamara Macley, pleased to meet you" she said sincerely as she pumped his arm up and down like a used cars salesman.

Stepping back into the living room, with a bunch of little, chipped, ceramic fruit magnets in her right hand, Willow bee lined for the available space on the couch besides Tara. Throwing her free arm around Tara, she looked up at her father wiggling the finger on her newly inked hand. "Oh yeah, we kinda got married." Avoiding any questions that might come from her father, "You still have these!" she asked with surprise, referencing the magnets.

Looking away from her father whose face was etched in a perpetual state of shock, she turned to Tara with a wide smile on her face, "This isn't a complete set anymore. When I was five I swallowed the pomegranate one because I wanted to know what it tasted like."

"Oh my god, where you alright?" Tara asked, her eyes widening in shock.

"Ah, yea, I was fine," Willow said modestly. "Completely wigged my mom out though."

"That's putting it mildly," Ira scoffed as he recomposed his demeanor. "She was completely bat-shit insane with worry. Of course, after three hours of telling her mother that everything was going to be fine, did she finally calm down and stop phoning every doctor in the yellow pages." He smiled fondly before grimacing, chucking a disgruntled thumb towards his daughter. "And then a week later, this one had to go and eat the banana."

"Ah, I remember that." Will said fondly, with a wide smile. "I never did shit that one out. I guess it's still there?" she said, poking her stomach in wonderment.

"Willow, wh…" Ira started.

Cutting off her father, Willow removed the arm draped around Tara's shoulder. "Loverdoll, why don't you be a sport and go get us some beer. I want some beer." Digging her free hand deep into her pants pocket, she removed some money for the blonde. "Do you want some beer?" She asked her father as she handed over the wad of crumpled up bills. "Well, if you want some it's here."

"Go to the liquor store…" she paused in hesitation before turning to her dad. "Where is there a liquor store around here?"

"Uh, ... there's a party store on the corner of 33rd and Bleaker," the older man rattled off as he stood up. Removing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he walked over to a chair positioned up against the far wall as he lit his smoke.

"Okay. Uh, babe, can you get a six-pack of something imported? Preferably Fosters. If they don't have that, ask the guy at the counter what their strongest imported beer is.

"Mr. Rosenberg, would you like me to pick you up anything while I'm out?" Tara asked her father-in-law sweetly.

"Oh, no thank you dear." Ira replied back with a soft smile.

"Hey Tare, since you're already going out, would you mind too terribly if you did a food run as well? I'm starvin' to death." Willow asked Tara, her lower lip poking out a little in a form of a pout.

"Sure, anything in particular?" Tara asked, the question directed to both Willow and Ira.

"What do you think would taste good?" Willow asked her father.

"I'm really not very …" Ira started to say as he pulled his cigarette away from his mouth.

"You know what would taste good?" she said to the blonde. "Chicken! I haven't had chicken in a good long while. Chicken would really hit the spot about now. Chicken and beer, definitely, absolutely, without a doubt."

"Okay," Tara responded, adding a head nod for extra emphasis. "Where's a good chicken place

around here?"

"I'm not sure actually." Ira said, scratching the back of his head as he contemplated where a chicken place might be.

"You don't know where a KFC is around where you live?" Willow asked in disbelief. Directing her attention back to Tara, "ask the guy at the liquor store where a chicken place is." Reaching back into her pocket, she pulled out more money and the car keys, handing both over to the blonde. "This should cover it, love."

"Okee-dokee. I'll be back soon." Tara said as she leant over to give Willow a quick peck on the lips. Straightening back up, Tara gave a tightlipped smile to Ira before heading to the door and walking out.

As Tara retreated through the trailer, Willow watched her backside with a cocked head. As soon as the door to the mobile home closed, Willow turned her attention back to her father. "Isn't she just the sweetest girl you ever saw in your whole life? Is she a four alarm fire, or what?"

Clearing his throat, Ira answered a little uncomfortably. "She seems very nice."

"Dad, nice doesn't even begin to cover it. In fact, nice is an insult." Willow said exasperatedly, her hands flailing around wildly. "She's a peach. I mean, she even tastes like a peach. You can tell I'm in love with her, can't ya? I bet you can tell by my face, it's a dead giveaway. It's practically written all over it!"

"Yes, I can tell." Ira replied, his voice even and low.

"Well that's good!" Willow said, missing the tone in her father's voice. "Cause ya know what? She loves me back. I swear, this is like the …"

"Willow, just shut up, you're giving me a headache!" Ira grouched out, effectively cutting off Willow's ramble. Standing up, he walked over to where is daughter was sitting, snuffing out his cigarette on one of the dishes piled up on the coffee table."I can't believe how much like your mother you are. You're your fucking mother through and through." Ira said exasperated, his right hand vigorously rubbing his forehead.

"I haven't heard from you in eight years and you show up all of a sudden at my doorstep at seven o'clock in the morning. Not only that, you walk in here like a Goddamn tornado... don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see you...just slow it down." He huffed out, his annoyance with his daughter finally off of his chest. With a demure smile, he took a seat on the chair opposite of where his daughter sat. "Now, do you want to tell me about you and the blonde? What's the deal?"

"Daddy, uh …" she started to say. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly as she shook her head back and forth, her body sinking back into the worn down couch cushions. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she forced herself to look up into her father's dark green eyes. "Dad, I'm in big fuckin' trouble and I really need your help."

Another short update. Hope to have another one up soon. Hope you all liked it. Please, tell me what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Completely aghast at his daughter, he just stares at her, unable to come to grasps with what Willow has just told him. "I'm going for a walk," Ira announced suddenly as he stood up and heading towards the door, slinging his jacket on as he walked out.

"Look, I know this is pretty heavy duty," Willow said as she followed behind her father, "so if you wanna explode, feel free." She finished with a chuckle, causing her father to turn around.

"You're always makin' jokes." Ira grouched, his voice starting to rise as he continued to scold his daughter. "That's what you do, isn't it? Make jokes. But if you make a joke about this I'm gon …" Pausing, Ira took three deep breaths to collect himself, his anger slowly starting to dissipate. "What do you want from me?" He asked her in a pleading tone, his voice begging her to tell him what she really wanted.

"What?" Willow asked back, faying ignorance.

"Stop acting like an infant." Ira practically yelled as he walked away from his child. "You're here because you want me to help you in some way. What do you need from me?" His voice wavering as he beseeched his daughter to tell him the truth. "You need money?"

"No," she sighed. "Do you still have friends on the force?" Willow finally asked, the question causing her father to stop walking.

"Yes, I still have friends on the force." Ira stated a little bitterly as he turned around to look at his child, the question catching him off guard.

"Could you find out if they know anything?" Willow asked her father, her voice serious as she walked towards him. "I don't think they know shit about us. But I don't wanna 'think,' I wanna 'know.'" She said to him, her voice strained as she tried to contain her nervousness. "You could find out for sure what's goin' on."

"Daddy?" she asked after a moment's pause, her father still standing there motionless, his jaw clenching.

"What makes you think I could do that?" he finally said in annoyance.

"You were a cop." Willow deadpanned with a shrug of her shoulders.

"But what makes you think I would do that?" Ira asked angrily, stressing the word 'would' as he positioned his body in front of his daughters to stop their walking.

Clenching her teeth together, "Because I'm your daughter," she replied seething, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, you're my daughter!" Ira echoed back in anger as his right hand flailed about. "You've got it, huh, all worked out, don't you? Oh yeah!"

"Look," Willow snapped back, cutting off her father's tirade. "Goddamnit, I never asked you for a Goddamn thing! I've tried to make your parental obligation as easy as possible." Her voice wavered as she yelled back at her father, the tears becoming harder to hold back. "After Mom divorced you did I ever ask you for anything?"

"Willow," Ira said, his voice now soft to try and sooth his frazzled child. Reaching his hands out, he tried to place them on her shaking shoulders, only to have them swatted away.

"When I wouldn't see ya for six months to a year at a time, did I ever get in your shit about it? No!" she continued on, shaking off his hands in refusal to let him calm her down. She had things she need to tell her father and if he calmed her down now she would no longer be able to get them off her chest. "The whole time you were an abusive drunk; did I ever point my finger at you and talk shit? No! Everybody else did. But not me, no, I never did. I never blamed you for abandoning mom and me cause you were too dedicated to work and the bottle. You see, I know that you're just a bad parent. You're just not really cut out to be a father, and I understand that. But I know … I know you love me." Taking a deep, ragged breath, she looked into her father's tear blotched eyes. "I'm a pretty resourceful person, dad. If I didn't really need your help, I wouldn't have asked. And if you say no, don't worry about it. I'm gone. No problem."

Ira opened and closed his mouth but no words came out. The lack of an answer causing Willow to walk away in anger, heading back towards the mobile home. Closing his eyes and shaking his own head in disappointment, he walked off in the opposite direction.

As she walked back towards the trailer, the sound of a honking horn caught her attention. Changing directions, Willow lightly jogged over towards her car.

"The forager's back." Tara cheered from inside the car as she rummages through a plastic bag sitting in the empty seat.

"Thank God." Willow said as she walked beside the car, her left hand resting on the open window sill of the passenger door. "I could eat an elephant if you slapped enough ketchup on it."

"I didn't get you any chicken." Tara said apologetically as she sipped from a container of orange juice.

"How come?" Willow asked with dismay, her eyebrows crunching together.

"Hunny, it's too early in the morning." Tara replied back sympathetically "It's only nine o'clock. They're not open yet."

"Just great," Willow grumbled as she kicked the side fender of her own car as Tara pulled away.

The midday sun tried to penetrate its way through the downturned window shades of the small, dimly lit waiting room outside of the Casting Directors office. The ambiance of the room, which consisted of headshots of celebrity's and fake plastic plants, did little to improve the anxiety of those waiting to be called. The uncomfortable leather couches and bucket seats scattered throughout the waiting room held nine young hopefuls with manuscripts clenched tightly in their hands, their mouths silently mouthing along with the lines they read.

All the men were so intensely focused on their scripts that none of them noticed the wooden door at the back of the room swing open. The petite, platinum blonde women who stepped out of the small, cramped office with a clipboard in hand also went undetected. She glanced unexcitingly around at the men auditioning, deeming that only some of them actually showing the physical looks of being an actor. Lifting up the clipboard, she scanned the sheet of paper for the next person to audition.

"Alexander Patrick Harris?" she asked in a loud, booming voice. "Alexander Patrick Harris!"

Popping his head up from its crouched position over the sheet of paper he was reciting his lines from, "I'm me! … I mean, that's me!"

"Marvelous," the woman said dryly with a roll of her eyes. Waving him forward with the clipboard, she motioned to her office with her other hand. "Step inside," she said as he approached her nervously before slamming the door shut behind them, the white sheet of paper pinned to the center of the hard oak read "casting in progress, GO AWAY!" swaying in the created breeze.

"Please Mr. Harris, have a seat. Sit, sit sit sit!" she said as she walked around her large desk, reclaiming her plush leather chair. "Let's make this as quick and painless as possible."

Pulling out the chair on the opposite side of the casting agents desk, Alexander nervously sat down, his hands tightly clenched to his sides.

"Okay Harris, I have here that the part you're reading for is one of the bad guys. There's

Sean and Jason." The woman rattled off as she read over her notes. Looking up from the sheets of paper on her desk, "Larry Blaisdell has already been cast as Sean. So that leaves you reading for the part of Jason."

"Uhmm … ah, okay," Alexander faltered as he realized he didn't completely know Jason's lines like he had with Sean's.

"Is there a problem?" She asked crossly.

"No," he smiled reassuringly, shaking his head. "No."

"Good. Now in this scene you're both in a car and Bruce Willis's character will be hanging onto the hood. So what you're trying to do is get him off." Picking up a copy of the script and flipping to the appropriate page, "Whenever you are ready."

With a hesitant shake of his head, Alexander started to read from his script while pantomiming his driving. "Whoo, where'd he come from?" he said lifelessly.

"I don't know." The woman drawled out, her voice even more lifeless than that of Alexander's. "He just appeared like magic."

Casting his eyes down, he read over his lines before reciting them. "Well, don't just sit there. Shoot him." He thrusted his right hand forward, his fingers bending to form a fake gun.

Flopping her script back onto the desk, she forced a faux smile at the young man. "That was very good."

"Really?" Alexander asked in disbelief, his smile growing wide as he puffed out his chest. "Thank you."

"If we decide to make him a New Yorker, could you do that?" she asked him seriously, her eyes roaming over his ruggedly handsome face and then down to his broad shoulders.

"Sure! Not a problem at all," Alexander replied, his head nodding up and down vigorously.

"Can we try it now?" she asked him, her gaze trailing back up to his chocolate colored eyes.

"Absolutely," he said as he picked up his script. Clearing his throat, he started to recite his lines, but this time with an overly dramatic Brooklyn accent. "Woo, where'd he come from?"

"I don't know," she replied back, just as monotone as before. "He just appeared like magic."

"Well, don't just sit there, shoot him!" He thrusted his right hand forward, again shaping his fingers in the form of a fake gun.

Once again, the casting agent set her script back down on her desk. "Well, Mr. Hariss, I'm impressed. You're a very talented actor." She gave him a thumbs up for emphasis.

Smiling at the blonde, Alexander bowed his head, hiding the blush quickly forming. Once he was sure he was composed, he slowly lifted his head back up, his eyes taking in the woman's name etched into the name plate resting in the middle of the desk. "Thank you, Ms. Jenkins."

"I'll call you in a few days," Ms. Jenkins said as she started to rise from her chair. With a genuine smile aimed at the dark haired man, "I'll show you out.

As the two walked towards the door, Ms. Jenkins stayed a few steps back, her eyes instinctively narrowing down to the man's ass incased in a pair of tight denim jeans. She waved good-bye to Mr. Harris as he exited the room before leaning up against the door frame and following his every movement until he was out of the casting office completely. "It's a good thing that man's gorgeous" she husked out, "because he's a shity actor."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Okay, one hand this time," Tara said to Willow who sat on the trunk of the car, watching her with fascination.

"Okay, one hand." Willow said as she clapped her own hands, cheering on the blonde. "Here we go. Whoo!" Willow cheered as Tara effortlessly performed a one armed cartwheel.

Laughing over her minor achievement, Tara jogged over to where Willow sat. "I haven't done one of those in years."

"Well you are very good at it," Willow said with a smile as she pulled Tara towards her, spinning her around so that the blonde stood between her legs and her arms rested comfortably against Tara's stomach. Kissing her gently on the base of her neck, Willow made a trail of gentle pecks up to the blonde's right ear. "Look. Here comes the train." Willow whispered as the sound of the trains roaring engine approached them.

The two watched the train pass them at lightning speed in silence before the sound of a door creaking open broke them from their trance. Turning her head, Willow watched as her father stepped out of his mobile home with a solemn look on his face. Retracting her arms from around Tara's waist, she made a move as if to get down from the trunk.

"I'll be over there," Tara said reassuringly to Willow as she pointed to a particular area.

"Willow?" Ira asked as he wrung his hands together.

"Yea pop?" Willow asked as she leant against the rear fender of her car.

Placing a hand on his daughters shoulder, "Well," he started off as he ushered Willow to walk a little further away from Tara so she was not in hearing distance. "They have nothing. In fact, they think its drug related."

"Do tell." Willow said intrigued, her eyes sparkling with this new found knowledge. "Why drug related?

"Well, apparently this Rack person had his big toe stuck in shit like that." Ira said, filling his daughter in on what an old friend from the force had told him.

"Seriously?" Willow asked relieved. Releasing a huge breath she didn't even realize she was holding, she slumped backwards against her father's car.

"Yeah, Rack had an association with a fella named Quentin Lee Travers. Does that name mean anything to you?"

"No," Willow said with a shake of her head. "No. Not at all."

"If you don't hang around his circle, no reason it should." Ira said with a shake of his head, silently glad his daughter was on the clean track of life.

"Who is he?" Willow asked.

"Gangster. Drug dealer." He said tersely. "Somebody you don't want on your ass. Look, Willow, the more I hear about this Rack fucker, the more I think you did the right thing. That guy wasn't just some wild flake."

"That's what I've been tellin' ya." Willow protested, a slight whine in her voice. "The guy was like a mad dog. So the cops aren't looking for me?"

"No. Until they hear something better, they'll assume Rack and Quentin had a falling out. So once you leave town I wouldn't worry about it."

"Thanks a lot, Daddy." Willow said as she stuck her right hand out for her father to shake. "You really came through for me."

Gripping his daughter's hand, he gave a firm squeeze before speaking. "I got some money I can give you –"

"Keep it." Willow said, cutting him off as she removed her hand from his.

"Well, I want you to know I hope everything works out with you and Tamara. I like her." He said honestly. "I think you make a cute couple."

"We do make a cute couple, don't we?" Willow said with a fond smile as she looked off towards Tara.

"Yeah, well, just stay outta trouble." Ira remarked as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Remember, you got someone else to think about now. Quit fuckin' around." Looking away from his daughter towards the train tracks, he took a deep breath before returning his attention back to his child. "I love you, Willow."

"I love you too pop," Willow said sincerely before engulfing her father in a hug. Extracting herself from the embrace, she reached into her pant pocket, removing a folded sheet of paper. "Here, this is my friend Xander Harris's number and address in Hollywood. We don't know where we'll be, but you can get a hold of me through him." Turing toward Tara's direction and yelling to her, "Tare, we're outta here. Kiss pops goodbye."

Running across the lot from where she was doing her cartwheels, Tara threw her arms around Ira's neck, giving him a not so chaste kiss on the lips, leaving the older man a little startled. "Bye, Mr. Rosenberg! Hope to see you again real soon." Tara babbled as she backed away towards the car.

"Hey, hey! What kind of daughterly smackeroo was that?" Willow asked in mock anger as she opened the driver side door of her car for Tara to slide through. As soon as the blonde was inside the car, nestled into the passenger seat, Willow sat down into her own seat. "We'll send you a postcard as soon as we get to Hollywood." Willow said to her father as he closed her driver door for her.

"Now Tara, Tara," Ira called out as he lent forward, his hands resting on the open window sill. "Tara, you take care of this one for me. Keep her out of trouble."

"Don't worry, Sir, I'm keepin' her on a short leash." Tara replied with a genuine smile as Willow started the car up and slowly reversed the car back onto the gravel road.

"Farewell pop," Willow shouted out the window as she simultaneously slammed the car into drive, shooting a shower of gravel up into the air.

As the Plymouth disappeared from sight, Ira ran his tongue over his lips. "The little bastard was right... she does taste like a peach." He chuckled in amusement for a few seconds before reentering his trailer.

"Do you have a few quarters?" Willow asked as she pulled the Plymouth off the road, parking it next to an isolated phone booth on the scorched earth surrounding route US-93 S.

"Uhm, yeah I believe so, let me check." Tara said as she pulled her purse up off the floor, placing it between her legs. Digging through the cluttered purse, she scavenged for a few quarters before placing the purse back onto the carpeted car floor. "Here babe," she said as she handed the currency over to the redhead.

"Thanks sweet checks." Willow responded in kind with a smile as she grabbed the money with her right hand, opening her car door with her left, and walked over to the isolated phone booth.

Pushing open the glass door of the phone booth, Willow stepped inside, lifting the phone of its cradle. Placing three quarters into the slot, she proceeded to dial a well-remembered phone number. As the phone rang, waiting for the recipient on the other end to pick up, Willow watched as Tara unabashedly stripped her top off, her alabaster skin glistening in the sun as she rustled around in the back of the car for a clean shirt to wear.

The shrill ring of the phone startled Alexander from the manuscript he was reading. As the phone continued to rattle with each ring, Alexander stretched his right hand out, his fingers wiggling in effort to try and reach the phone just inches out of his reach without dropping the script perched on his lap or having to actually get up out of his chair. After his third attempt, he was finally able to pull the phone to him, the pink plastic being hastily brought up to his ear as he briskly spoke into the device. "Hi, Alex here."

"Heeellllloooooo baaaabbbbbbyyyyy!" A distinct female voice said through the phone in a big bopper tone.

"Willow?" Alexander asked unsure, his eyebrows scrunching together.

"You got it." Willow said with a chuckle.

"Will, it's great to hear from you, man." Alexander said with a smile as he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Well, you're gonna be seein' me shortly.

"You comin' to L.A.?" Alexander asked shocked. "When?

"Uhh … tomorrow." Willow said, her attention starting to waver away from her conversation with her friend to the blonde who was now walking around without a shirt on.

"What's up? Why're ya leavin' Boise?" Alexander asked, intrigued by his lifelong friends decisions to up route to L.A. all of a sudden.

"Well, there's a story behind all that." Willow admitted as she leaned her back against the glass of the phone booth, her attention completely fixated on the blonde as Tara danced around the car, a puffy white with red polka-dotted tube top now covering her chest. "I'll tell you when I see

you. By the way, I won't be alone. I'm bringin' my wife with me."

"Get the fuck outta here!" Alexander shouted, his excitement nearly causing him to drop the phone. "Willow you got married?"

"I'm a married woman, buddy!" Willow said happily, her excitement causing Tara to stop dancing and to saunter over to the phone booth.

"Get the fuck outta here!" Alexander repeated again.

"I know right, I actually tricked a girl into falling in love with me." Willow chuckled as she reached out a hand for Tara to grab a hold of. "I'm not quite sure how I did it. I'd hate to have

to do it again. But I did it. Hey, wanna say hi to my better half?" Before Alexander could muster up a response, Willow handed the phone over to Tara.

"Hi, Alex. I'm Tamara." Tara said in her sweetest voice, her Nebraskan accent showing through.

"Why, hello, Alabama." Alexander said back in a mock Nebraskan drawl, completely charmed.

"I can't wait to meet you." Tara said with full honesty. "Willow's told me all about you. She said you are her best friend. So, I guess that makes you my best friend too." As Tara is talking to Alexander, Willow started to dictate to her what to say, all the while pacing outside the phone booth.

"Tell him we gotta go." Willow verbalized to Tara as her pacing started to increase, her strides getting longer.

"Willow says we gotta be hittin' it." Tara said through the receiver as she watched the redhead start to get antsy.

"What?" Alexander asked.

"Tell him we'll be hittin' his area some time tomorrow." Willow called out to the blonde as she made her way back over to the phone booth.

"She said don't go nowhere. We'll be there sometime tomorrow." Tara recanted in her own words, a smile on her face as she watched Willow snap her fingers with impatience.

"Wait a minute –" Alexander started to say, completely confused as to what was going on.

"Tell him not to eat anything. We're gonna scarf when we get there." Willow said with a devilish smile as she sauntered to the entrance of the phone booth, her tongue subconsciously licking her bottom lip.

"Don't eat anything." Tara managed to get out through quivering lips.

"Tamara, could you tell Will–" the actor started to say, slightly frustrated that his friend wasn't talking to him directly.

"Ask him if he got the letter." Willow said as she kept her eyes locked on Tara's.

"Did you get the letter?" Tara inquired, the fingers of her right hand coming up to play with the telephone cord wire, twirling the cable around her index finger.

"What letter?" Alexander asked slightly irritated, yet at the same time intrigued.

Turning her attention back to Willow, "What letter?"

"The letter I sent." Willow deadpanned. "Has he gotten his mail today?"

"Gotten your mail yet?" Tara asked with a bemused smile, finding the three-way conversation to be somewhat quirky.

"Well, no. You see, my roommate Jessie …" that was as far as he got before Tara cut him off once more with another question from Willow.

"Ya looked through it?" Tara giggled into the phone, her body relaxing up against the glass wall as she waited for Alexander's response. Looking up at Willow, "Nope."

"Well, tell him to look through it." Willow purred out as she stepped into the doorway of the booth, her right forearm pressing against the doorframe.

"Get it." Tara managed to husk out as she took in the sight of Willow posed in the tight doorway. Her hip jutted out to the left with her right arm poised above her head against the cold metal, her light pink tongue dancing ever so gracefully against her top teeth as her emerald green eyes raked un-bashfully across the blonde's exposed midriff.

"Wait. Wait. Wait. Can I speak to Willow, please?" Alexander begged.

"He wants to speak with you." Tara said with a coy smile as Willow slowly approached her, backing her up completely against the glass wall.

"No time. Gotta go." Willow husked out as she reached her hands out for the single button connected to the cutoff jeans the blonde wore, simultaneously latching her lips onto the blondes exposed neck. "Just tell him to read the letter, the letter explains all. Tell him I love him. And tell him as of tomorrow, all his money problems are over."

"She can't. We gotta go, but she wants you to read the letter." Tara croaked into the receiver as Willow stared to unzip her shorts. Mustering up courage to finish what she needed to tell Alexander, she finished relaying the information with a choppy,shaky voice, as Willow's tantalizing touch caused her stomach to quiver. "The letter …explains all. She wants you … to know … she loves you. And she… wants you to know… that as of tomorrow, … all of your money problems… are over."

"Money problems?" Alexander asked confused, his right hand scratching the back of his head as he pondered over what his best friend's wife just told him. "Money problems?" He repeated, completely dumbfounded.

"Now tell him good-bye." Willow whispered into Tara's ear, her breath tickling the blonde's skin as she slid her right hand gently across Tara's stomach.

"Bye, 'bye!" Tara said quickly before a moan could escape her mouth as Willow continued her teasing.

"Now hang up." Willow saidin a husky voice as she kissed her way down the blonde's bare throat, her hands igniting a trail of fire as they roamed over the blonde's stomach up to her breasts.

Slamming the phone down on the cradle, she repositions her newly empty hand behind Willow's head, forcing the other woman's face to her mouth for a long overdue kiss.


	14. Chapter 14

With the phone still firmly pressed to his ear, Alexander hears the other line click before a soft buzzing sound starts to resonate. "Hello, hello. Willow? Willow's wife?" he called out questioningly, "... I mean Tamara ... hello?" Pulling the phone away from his face, Alexander looked at the device quizzically, a befuddled expression adorning his face.

Extremely confused by the recent events, Alexander dropped the headpiece back onto the cradle, hanging up the phone. Slowly, he pushed himself up from the chair, crossing over to the entranceway table that was cluttered with past due bills. Flipping through the stack, the struggling actor looked at the letterhead on each envelope, reading off the names as he went, "Southern California Gas Company. Group W. Fossenkemp Photography. Columbia Record and Tape Club ... Willow."

Chucking the other envelopes back onto the table, Alexander made his way back over to his chair, slowly lowering down to the seat as he tore open the packet. Pulling out two pieces of loose leaf paper, Alexander quickly started to read his friends unmistakable squiggly writing adorning the sheets, his left eyebrow cocking upwards in the process.

000

With a heavy hearted sigh, Ira navigated his White Ford Thunderbolt down a gravel pathway, the bright neon sign flickering "Shady Meadow" at the entrance of the road signaling that he was once again returning to the trailer park he called home. Shutting off the engine, he rested his head back against the headrest as he thought over the last 24 hours. It had been eight years since he last saw his daughter, her sweet sixteen the last birthday he participated in before his wife called it quits. Thinking back on all the wasted years and how happy he had felt yesterday speaking with his only child again, if only for a few hours to help her through an illicit incident; he couldn't help but to wonder when he would see her again. A small smile etched the corner of his mouth as he visualized his daughter and the relationship he hoped they could rebuild.

Stepping out of the vehicle, a fast food soda cup in one hand and his work jacket in the other, Ira nudged the car door shut with his hip before sauntering over to his trailer. Looking at the unkempt camper, the wheels having long gone flat and the body rusting from years of neglect, he couldn't help but to smile again. For the first time in nearly a decade he thought about scrapping his trailer, relocating near his daughter and becoming the father he should have been during her childhood.

With a resound nod of the head, Ira pulled open the steel door and stepped inside of his sun deprived trailer. Before he could reach behind him to shut the door, the sound of a gun cocking while being pressed to his temple stopped all movement. Gulping audibly, he shifted his eyes to the right to look at the gun wielding intruder. Motion out of his peripheral view caused Ira to jerk his head to the left as a man in a black leather trench coat approached. Before he could speak, a closed fist connected with his apposing temple, rendering him unconscious immediately.

000

Sitting in a chair in the center of the trailer, a dark haired middle aged man immaculately groomed in a casually unbuttoned navy blue cashmere full length over coat with a floral silk scarf draped underneath watched as the eyelids of the unconscious security guard opposite of him fluttered. The barest of blinks occurring again and again until they finally opened; revealing clouded emerald eyes. With a bemused smile, the dapper dressed male took a long puff of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke into the older male's face as he slowly came to his senses.

With his head lolling forward as the taste of copper and the smell of smoke assaulted his senses, Ira was slowly pulled further and further out of his insentient state of mind and into wakefulness. He wasn't sure how long he had been out, but by the rays of light hitting the couch, he could tell that it was well past eight o'clock. As he strained to keep his eyes open, his vision blurry, he tried to focus on the four men in front of him.

Taking another long inhalation of the cigarette pinched between his fingers, the dark haired male spoke out, never turning as he addressed one of his henchmen standing behind him. "Angel … tell Tooth-Pic Vic to go outside and do you-know-what."

The tall menacing looking hitman Angel, with hunched shoulders and a badly cut jacket used to conceal multiple weapons, instantly turned to his comrade, a thin, dusty blonde haired male and started speaking Italian while gesturing to the door. With a nod of his head, Andrew Victor 'Vic' Wells exited the cramped trailer, closing the door behind him.

He waited several seconds before turning his attention back to the bleeding man in front of him, his expression cold. "Do you know who I am, Mr. Rosenberg?"

Ira glanced at the two henchmen still in his line of sight, both tall brunettes with perfectly quaffed hair. He watched for several seconds as the hired hands routed through his personal belongings before turning his attention back to the distinctly British man in front of him. With a brash smirk and a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder, "I give up. Who are you?"

"I'm the Anti-Christ." The Brit said ominously. "You get me in a vendetta kind of mood; you will tell the angels in Heaven that you had never seen pure evil so singularly personified as you did in the face of the man who killed you." His face remained stoic as he continued to talk, his voice low and gravely. "My name is Rupert Giles … but my friends and more importantly my enemies refer to me as The Ripper. I work as council for Mr. Quentin Lee Travers, the man who your daughter stole from."

Pausing, Rupert raised his cigarette back to his lips, taking a short drag before he resumed his speech, "I hear you were once a cop so I can assume you've heard of us before. Am I correct?"

Staring the British man in the eyes, Ira replied back just as evenly. "I've heard of 'Quentin Lee Travers'."

"I'm glad." Rupert replied with a nod of his head, the left corner of his mouth curling up a bit. "Hopefully that will clear up the how-full-of-shit-I-am question you've been asking yourself. Now, we're gonna have a little Q and A, and at the risk of sounding redundant, please make your answers genuine."

Standing up from his chair, Rupert started to rummage around inside of his overcoat until he located a nearly empty, crumpled pack of cigarettes. Pulling the carton out into plain view, he tilted the pack towards Ira. "Want a Chesterfield?"

"No," Ira said with a shake of his head.

Shrugging his shoulders dismissively, Rupert tossed the pack of cigarettes onto the nearby table. With his hands now free, the mobster reached for the lapels of his navy blue overcoat, pushing the heavy cloth back over his shoulders, revealing an equally impressive three piece suit. "I have a son of my own. About your girl's age. I can imagine how painful this must be for you. " Folding the coat, he gently swiped at the material, brushing off lent before carefully laying it across the armrest of the couch. "But Willow and that bitch girlfriend of hers brought this all on themselves. And I implore you," he clapped his hands together in front of his chest, shaking his intertwined fingers at the former cop, "… not to go down the road with 'em. You can always take comfort in the fact that you never had a choice."

Looking upwards at the impeccably dressed Englishman standing over him, "Look, I'd help ya if I could, but I haven't seen Willow …"

Rupert looked down on the security guard, his features scrutinizing as he side shuffled his feet. Pinching his lips together in a tight line, he lifted up his right hand, showing his clenched fist to Ira. "You see that?" Before Ira had a chance to respond, Rupert slammed him hard in the nose with his fist.

"Smarts, don't it?" Questioned Rupert as the man before him curled over, his hands instantly rising to his face to cup his profusely bleeding nose. "Gettin' slammed in the nose fucks you all up." He continued as he pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his blazer. "You got that pain shootin' through your brain. Your eyes fill up with water." Rupert pointed out as he handed the handkerchief over to Ira so the man could clean himself up. The Englishman continued to gesticulate animatedly while speaking as he circled around the vacant chair. "It ain't any kind of fun. But what I have to offer you, that's as good as it's ever gonna get, and it won't ever get that good again."

Ira grimaced decorously as he continued to wipe at his gushing nose, his glossy eyes never wavering from the Englishman in front of him as the mobster sat back down in his chair. Rupert scooted to the edge of his chair as he continued, his voice still foreboding and even keel. "We talked to your neighbors; they saw a Plymouth, a blue Plymouth, parked in front of your trailer yesterday. Mr. Rosenberg, have you seen your daughter?"

Holding the handkerchief securely to his nose, Ira responded defeated around the bloodstained cloth. "I've seen her."

Rupert leaned back in his chair, a knowing smirk creasing his cheeks, "now I can't be sure of how much of what she told you. So in the chance you're in the dark about some of this, let me shed some light. That whore your girl hangs around with, her pimp is an associate of mine, and I don't just mean pimpin', in other affairs he works for me in a courier capacity. Well, apparently," Rupert abruptly stood up once more, circling to the back of his chair to stand in front of two of his henchmen. Gripping the ends of the silk purple and blue floral scarf draped around his neck, he reflexively tugged on the fabric as he continued to speak. "… that dirty little whore found out when we were gonna do some business, 'cause your daughter, the cowgirl and her flame, came in the room blastin' and didn't stop 'til they were pretty sure everybody was dead."

"What are you talkin' about?" Ira asked incredulity, his brows furrowing together as he shook his head in the negative.

"I'm talkin' about a massacre." Giles growled out. "They snatched my narcotics and high-tailed it outta there. Wouldda gotten away with it, but your kid … fuckhead that she is," snickered the menacing Englishman as he lifted his left arm, the back of his hand resting by his mouth to cover a wayward chuckle. ".. left her driver's license in a dead guy's hand."

"I don't believe you." Rebutted Ira sternly, his voice low and hostile as he stared up glaringly at the Don.

"That's of minor importance." Rupert shrugged as he continued to hold eye contact with the security guard, his voice lowering an octave. "But what's of major fucking importance is that I believe you. Where did they go?"

"On their honeymoon." Ira replied dismissively.

The features of Rupert's face hardened as his lips formed a straight line. His voice, gruff from years of smoking, came out low and rough. "I'm gettin' angry askin' the same question a second time. Where did they go?"

Bringing the borrowed handkerchief back to his nose, dabbing at the now drying blood, "they didn't tell me." At the incredulous look shot at him by the Mafioso, Ira held up a hand in defense. "Now, you just wait a minute and listen to me. I haven't seen Willow in eight years, yesterday she shows up here with a girl, sayin' she got married." Ira continued to hold his hand up in justification, preventing the other man from talking as he watched the Englishman knowingly nod his head. "She uh, she told me she needed some quick cash for a honeymoon, so she asked if she could borrow five hundred dollars. I wanted to help them out so I wrote out a check. We went to breakfast and that's the last I saw of her. So help me God. They never thought to tell me where they were goin'. And I never thought to ask."

He nodded his head several times while Ira had been talking, quietly soaking in the former cops words. With a rakish smirk, Rupert looked at the seated man for a long moment, his posture shifting so that he leant heavily on one foot as he continued to scrutinize. With the barest of movements, Rupert shifted his gaze upwards towards the lanky, platinum blonde haired henchman standing behind Ira's chair, giving him a knowing look. Silently, quick as greased lightning, the leather trench coat wearing henchmen stepped forward; grabbing Ira's hand and turning it palm up. Without a word, he whipped out a butterfly knife and sliced Ira's palm, smiling broadly at the sounds of a choked back scream. Placing the knife back into the front pocket of his jacket, the muscular thug reached into his trench coat and pulled out a silver flask from the breast pocket. Popping the top off of the decanter, he quickly poured a clear liquid substance onto the profusely bleeding wound; his smile growing larger as Ira shouted in pain.

Standing vigilantly behind his boss, Angel grabbed a used dish towel off of the kitchen counter and tossed it to Ira. Clenching his teeth together as he held his bleeding palm in agony, Ira watched wide-eyed as the door to his trailer swung open. As the sandy haired Italian reemerged, Ira dropped his gaze back down to his lap in defeat as he wrapped the towel around his wounded hand, watching as blood quickly soaked through the cotton.

Walking into the center of the trailer, Tooth-pick Vic stood adjacent to his boss as he spoke, "Don Giles, Signore. Non c'è niente lì."

Without turning to ecknowledge his henchmen, Rupert whispered out, "questo non è buono." Moving away from the Italian, Rupert took several surefooted steps in the direction of Ira as he pulled loose another Chesterfield from the pack. "You know," he stated as he reclaimed. "Sicilians are great liars. The best in the world. I'm Sicilian." Pausing, Rupert brought the cigarette to his lips as he lit it, his eyes never wavering from the man in front of him.

"My grandfather was the world heavyweight champion of Sicilian liars." Taking in a deep drag, Rupert pulled the cigarette away from his mouth as he blew the smoke skywards. Regaining his composure, "and from growin' up with him I learned the pantomime." Gesturing his cigarette wielding hand at the hapless father, "now there are seventeen different things a guy can do when he lies to give him away. A guy has seventeen pantomimes. A woman's got twenty, but a guy's got seventeen. But …"

Again, he paused in thought as he brought the cigarette back to his lips as he leisurely took in another inhalation of breath, savoring the rich feeling of nicotine on his tongue. "If ya know 'em like ya know your own face, they beat lie detectors all to hell."

Huffing in annoyance, Ira pulled the rag away from his hand so that he could inspect the cut. As more blood freely gushed from the wound, he replaced the towel as he disdainfully looked back at Quinten Lee Traver's second hand man.

"What we got here is a little game of show and tell," Rupert explained dryly as he flicked ash onto the clutter filled floor. "You don't wanna show me nothin'. But you're tellin' me everything. Now I know you know where they are. So … tell me, before I do some damage you won't walk away from."

Ira slowly lowered his head, his eyes shifting rapidly back and forth as he thought through every possible scenario in his head. As the awful pain in his hand quickly became replaced by the appalling pain in his heart, Ira looked back up once again at the Don's expressionless face. Looking deep into Rupert's eyes, "could I have one of those Chesterfields now?"

"Sure." Rupert replied after several seconds. Leaning over, Rupert produced the pack of smokes to Ira, allowing the man to pick a cigarette.

Slowly, Ira brought the stick of tobacco to his lips; "Gotta match?" he asked the Don as he wiggled the fingers on his good hand at the European. Before Rupert could respond, Ira started patting down his clothing, "Oh, no, wait. No, don't bother." Ira said as he reached into a pant pocket, pulling out a silver zeppo. "I got one," he mumbled as he carefully lit the cigarette. Pulling his head back slightly, he looked at the flickering flame, his eyes glossy as he snapped the lid of the Zeppo shut. "So … you're part Sicilian, huh?"

"Yeah, Sicilian." His words were mere whispers as he confirmed Ira's question.

Chuckling to himself, Ira replaced his Zeppo back into his pocket as he puffed on the Chesterfield. "You know I read a lot. Especially things that have to do with history. I find that shit fascinating." Ira admitted suddenly as he pulled the cigarette from his lips, watching as Rupert comfortably sat back in his chair. "Here's a fact I don't know whether you know or not … Sicilian's were spawned by niggers."

At Ira's words, all the henchmen, except for Tooth-pick Vic who doesn't speak English, stop what they were doing and looked at the smirking greying haired male. Not believing what he just heard, Rupert stared incredulously at the ballsy man before him, the muscles in his face twitching. "Come again?"

"No, it's … it's a fact. Yeah." Ira replied adamantly as Rupert started to chuckle himself. "You see, uh, Sicilians have black blood pumping through their hearts."

Rotating in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, Rupert looked behind him at his two henchmen Angel and Wesley; his eyebrows raised high onto his forehead. As Mr. Rosenberg continued to talk, Rupert turned back around in his chair, his attention firmly on the slightly older man.

"If you don't believe me look it up," Ira croaked out as he pointed a shaking finger at the mobster. "You see, hundreds and hundreds of years ago the Moors conquered Sicily. And Moors are niggers." He licked his suddenly dry lips as he watched the display of emotions crossing the Mafioso's face; the muscles in his cheeks subconsciously twitch as his lips pulled into a nervous grin. "You see, way back then … Sicilians were like the Wops in northern Italy. They all had blond hair and blue eyes."

Inhaling apprehensively, Ira brought his half smoked cigarette back to his lips, taking a short drag before slowly letting the smoke trickle out of his nostrils. "But well … then the Moors moved in there … and well, they changed the whole country. They did so much fuckin' with the Sicilian women," he made a lewd gesture with his hand. "They changed the whole bloodline forever. That's why blonde hair and blue eyes became black hair and dark skin."

Again, Rupert pivoted to look behind him, his eyes fleetingly making contact with Angel before flickering back to Ira. Knowing full well what was to come, Ira smirked around his half smoked cigarette as he continued to graciously insult Rupert with a beautifully crafted story. "I find it absolutely amazing to think that to this day hundreds of years later; Sicilians still carry that nigger gene. Now, this …"

Ira stumbled over his words as Rupert let out a disbelieving snicker, his head cocking to the side to look over his shoulder once more; gaging the reactions on his subordinate's faces. "No, I'm quoting history." Ira said firmly with a brisk nod of the head all-the-while Rupert persisted to laugh. "It's written. It's a fact. It's written."

"I love this guy," Rupert said joyfully, a broad smile on his face as he locked eyes with the platinum haired man standing motionless behind Ira.

"No, it's true. Your ancestors are niggers." As Rupert started to laugh wholeheartedly, Ira joined in himself for several moments before resuming his narrative. "Yeah. Your great, great, great, great grandmother … fucked a nigger and she had a half nigger kid. Now… if that is a fact, tell me. Am I lying? Cause you …" He let out another chortle before pausing momentarily, his blood encrusted index finger pointing knowingly at the dark haired man. "You're part eggplant."

At Ira's words, Rupert let out a burst of deep hearty laughter, his eyes squinting shut from the cachinnation. The laughter of the two men filled the trailer as Rupert shifted in his seat to look at his men, their faces stoic so as not to disrespect their boss. Turning back to the dauntless security guard, Rupert's smile twitched as Ira pointed at his henchmen, referring to them all as 'eggs'.

"You're a cantaloupe," Rupert shot back through a belly laugh; a large cheesy grin gracing his features. "That's beautiful." Pressing on his knees, Rupert pushed himself into an upright position, straightening out his jacket as he approached Ira. Placing a hand on either side of the older man's face, Rupert continued to snigger as he placed a chase kiss on Ira's right temple.

Recognizing the kiss for what it was, Ira brought the butt of his cigarette to his mouth one last time; sucking in as much nicotine as possible upon the last puff. With downcast eyes, his heart heavy, Ira thought of his daughter and the trouble she landed herself in. Steadying his breathing, Ira internally prayed that his lollygagging had provided his wayward daughter enough time to get as far away as possible. With a coy smile, the image of his beautiful daughter etched into his mind, Ira looked back up at Rupert.

From several paces away, Rupert stood in front of Angel with his back to Ira, his shoulders shaking up and down with each snicker; a mirthful chuckle still escaping from his lips. Looking over his shoulder at the dejected security guard, Rupert shot him a wide tooth smile as he pulled a hidden pistol from inside of Angel's blazer. Turning back to face his henchmen, Rupert mumbled something under his breath as his hands fiddled with the hidden object, snapping the clip into place as he thumbed off the safety.

Turning on the heels of his feet, Rupert purposely sauntered back to Ira, a mirthless chuckle leaving his throat as he raised his pistol wielding arm. As the barrel of the gun leveled with Ira's forehead, Rupert effortlessly pulled the trigger twice. "I haven't killed anybody …" he growled out as he gestured his weapon in the air in the shape of the cross before pulling the trigger two more times, "since 1984." Even as Ira's lifeless body fell to the floor, Rupert held his gun pointed at the ex-cop, waiting several seconds before firing off another shot.

Unable to express his feelings and frustrated by the blood on his hands, he simply dropped his weapon wielding hand and turned to his men, handing off the gun. "Go to this comedian's daughter's apartment. Come back with something that tells me where that asshole went..." Grabbing the white handkerchief offered to him by the platinum blonde, Rupert dipped a corner of the cloth into a semi filled cup of water sitting on the kitchen table before bringing it up to his face. "… so I can wipe this egg off my face."

Confused, his head cocked to the side as his eyebrows screwed together, Tooth-pick Vic tapped Angel on the shoulder, "Angel, quello che è successo?"

"Ha detto che i siciliani sono generati dai negri, così Don Rupert lo ha ucciso." Angel replied simply as he walked into the small kitchenette in the direction of the refrigerator.

"Fix this fucked-up family for good," grumbled out Rupert as he continued to wipe away the blood splattered on his face and hands. Swiping at his chest one final time, Rupert threw the towel down on Ira's bullet riddled body before spitting on his corpse.

Pulling open the refrigerator door, Angel grabbed a beer from inside of the icebox. Closing the door, his eyes drifted over several Polaroid pictures of a redheaded toddler before his gaze landed on a kiwi fruit magnet pinning a note to the metal slab. Ripping the piece of paper off of the fridge, Angel looked down at the note which read: "Willow in LA: Alexander Harris 3161 Marmont Ave. Hollywood Hills, CA 90069. 323-912-0014.

"Hey, boss." Angel called out. "Get ready to be happy."


End file.
